


Letters from Heaven

by chubsonthemoon



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Healing, Letters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Violet Evergarden AU/inspired, brief descriptions of height/vertigo, flying and planes, ghostwriters, post-war experiences, vaguely fantasy/historical setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 60,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28154124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chubsonthemoon/pseuds/chubsonthemoon
Summary: “Letters connect us,” Hinata says. “To be a good Doll, you have to understand the human soul. What it means to love.”
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 48
Kudos: 50
Collections: Haikyuu Fics That Light my soul on Fire, Kagehina Big Bang 2020





	1. A Doll's Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> hello, all!! this is my submission for the 2020 kagehina big bang! I've had such a lovely time with the mods and my wonderful partner [pearl](https://twitter.com/pearlsama)! you can find her beautiful art [here!](https://twitter.com/pearlsama/status/1340017809368121344?s=20>here</a>!%20\(also%20found%20in%20the%20work%20itself%20just%20in%20case%20you%20want%20to%20avoid%20spoilers!\)%0A%0Aa%20million%20hugs%20to%20<a%20href=) it's also at the end of the chapter so you can get the full ExperienceTM or if you want to avoid spoilers :D (spoiler alert: I teared up when I saw it T_T) I'd like to thank them for all their hard work; this wouldn't have been possible without them!
> 
> a million hugs to [wistfullywishing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wistfullywishing), [whatamidoinghere13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatamidoinghere13/pseuds/whatamidoinghere13), and [dodici](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dodici/pseuds/Twelve) for cheering me on these past few months! I love and appreciate them so much!! <333
> 
> and finally all my love to my dear friend [mysterytwin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterytwin) for saying back in august "yo wanna cry over kghn together some more," to which I responded "oh _hell_ yeah." I couldn't have done this without you, janine <333
> 
> work and chapter title(s) are from the beautiful Violet Evergarden soundtrack, which you can find [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BkVx4cXVmSU&list=PLJbWNarT9D8msO9D8p3nvq7Wj9FBQvvkC&ab_channel=AaronMelgar). I adore this anime, and if you haven't already I hope you can check it out!
> 
> this fic is already written, and I'll try to get the rest of it up as soon as possible!
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Once, Kageyama Tobio fell from the sky.

Here is what is strange about his fall:

The moment between the first impact and the second was finite. There was fire, the sound of dying metal, and then darkness.

But somehow, somehow, the fall itself was infinite.

Somewhere between the sky and the sea, Kageyama Tobio still falls, alone.

***

Sunlight streams through the open window from behind, not quite golden as morning begins in earnest. His limbs feel heavy, his eyelids glued shut. He feels a light breeze waft over him, tickle his nose. When he blinks away the fog, he sees the white curtains fluttering above him, the bright, high ceiling of the hospital ward.

The dream had been more sensation than anything: a hand in his, callused and warm; the evening sky and a laugh; walking home.

In the space between sleeping and waking, Kageyama Tobio thinks: where is my home?

He sits up, slowly, presses a hand to his head. He feels…rested. As if he had been sleeping for a long, long time.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

A man with curly dark hair, wire glasses, wearing simple travelling clothes, smiles at him from where he stands beside the bed. The nurse, a different one this month whose name he can’t remember, bows to the man, then to Tobio, before leaving.

The man’s eyes seem friendly enough. “Hello,” he says. “My name is Takeda Ittetsu. I’m a friend of your sister’s. I’m here to escort you to your new place of residence, and to offer you a job.”

Tobio blinks. “Where’s Miwa?” he asks, and winces. His voice is rusty from disuse, and it comes out gruff, ungrateful. He clears his throat, says more quietly, “She said she was coming.”

Takeda adjusts his glasses, not seeming to mind Tobio’s bluntness. “Kageyama-san was called away by one of her clients for some emergency work. She says she’s sorry she couldn’t make it today, but that she’ll visit soon.”

Tobio’s hands are fists in his lap, bedsheets rough against his palms. He stares down at them; they are, like everything else about his survival, miraculously intact. Unscarred, even, except for a thin line shaped like a half moon on the back of his right hand. He traces it idly.

He should not feel ungrateful, or disappointed. Even if it sounds like he is. “I see,” he says, voice level. Another glance up; Takeda’s hands are behind his back, and he is still smiling, though there is an apologetic air about it now. “Where are we going?”

“A nearby port city. Karasuno,” Takeda says, and he takes a step forward. Tobio watches him approach, how he doesn’t seem to loom over Tobio like so many others have these past few months, doesn’t ask _how are we feeling today, Tobio_? or say _no, no, you should rest_. He feels, strangely, safer. “It’s a few hours by car. I can inform you of all the details on our way there. Is that alright?”

A question, honestly asked. Tobio stares at him for a moment more, then nods.

“Okay,” he says.

Takeda holds out a hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Kageyama-kun.”

Tobio reaches slowly out, offers his own hand. Takeda’s grip is as steady as his eyes.

“Mn.”

***

He is going to Karasuno Postal Company, newly founded after the end of the war only a few months ago. Takeda tells him that, despite their newcomer status, their fast deliveries and letter-writing services have garnered them positive attention and good business in the city.

“Your grandfather and our old postal master were friends before the war,” Takeda says as buildings and factories slowly emerge along the bright open road. Tobio tears his glance away from the window to meet Takeda’s eyes in the mirror.

“They were?” he says, a little too loudly. He lowers his voice. “I didn’t know that.”

“Mmhm,” Takeda says. They’re crossing a bridge now; it is the first one Tobio has seen in the past hour that is not made of wood. “His name is Ukai, but his grandson runs it now. He’s more in charge of the internal affairs, and I manage the outgoing side of things.”

“Like me?” Tobio can’t help but ask.

Takeda’s laugh is quiet and kind. “Yes, Kageyama-kun,” he chuckles. “Like you.”

They’ve crossed the bridge now; the mountains grow smaller behind them. Tobio hears the road turn to cobble and stares at his hands again. That’s right: although Takeda had given him a choice to come with him, Tobio’s on his own now. His parents are gone, he is no longer under the command of his old Major, and Miwa can’t look after him, what with her own work in the northern part of the country. He has no marketable skills, outside of…

Outside his window, Tobio sees his first glimpse of the ocean, glittering beneath a cloudless sky.

“We’re almost to the port,” Takeda says, just as a few boats begin to dot the blue horizon.

A few streetlights appear, and then suddenly the road curves gently around the hill, and then Tobio sees _everything._

The brown of the docks, the curve of the harbor mouth into the land like a half-moon embrace; the gentle slope of the valley upwards, into the green mountains. From the road that runs along the edge of the port to the harbor channel, Tobio spots a single bell tower in one of the farther quarters of the city, like a lighthouse to the sea of life below. And everywhere, so many colors—the lush green of the palm trees that line the bustling avenues, bright reds and yellows of brick apartments and businesses, white marble of columned government buildings, the cream furl of the sails on ships at the docks. People walk the streets and narrow alleyways, boarding trolleys, hailing taxis, coming and going with groceries in hand and a kind of briskness in their walk. He hears the deep cry of a ship horn as they cross the high bridge that spans the channel, the clanging of a trolley as they turn onto a street, the hum of the engine as Takeda weaves through the ribbons of traffic.

Everywhere, life.

Tobio looks away from the window, feeling a little ill. He grew up just outside a city on the Eastern side of the country, in a smaller town. There had been no ships, no ocean of life to feel lost in.

“A little overwhelming, isn’t it?” he hears Takeda say, and he only nods. “Although I’m sure you saw lots of cities when you were serving.”

“I did,” Tobio says, and he risks another glance out the window. Then, softer: “But not like this.” Not from the ground.

He had been in the sky, then _._

***

As it turns out, Karasuno Postal Company’s headquarters is a converted mansion at the top of a hill overlooking the entire city. The narrow street to get there branches off from the main road and winds up past some quieter residential areas, back and forth, until it comes to a stop in front of the building, with a sidewalk railing that faces the city. 

Tobio steps out of the car and looks out; the chaos from earlier is muted, and the channel to the north glitters beneath the afternoon sun as it leads out to the sea. The wind is louder up here, carrying away the sounds of the busy streets below.

“Kageyama-kun,” Takeda calls him, and he turns to face the mansion.

It really is impressive: all baked red brick and iron accents, broad windows set in white frames. Stately, refined, but functional. One of the large brown doors of the main entrance, set a little ways into a porch raised by some stairs, is slightly ajar.

“Ukai wants to speak with you,” Takeda explains, once Tobio’s taken it all in. “But feel free to look around as soon as you get settled.”

Tobio’s stomach flips unpleasantly. Someone was _waiting_ for him? He supposes it makes sense, since Takeda took the trouble of driving all the way to fetch him, but.

“It’ll be alright,” Takeda says. He starts walking up the stairs, gesturing over his shoulder. “You don’t owe us anything, and you’re free to leave whenever.” He opens the door and turns to smile. Safe. “Just hear us out?”

Tobio squares himself, then picks up his worn suitcase and follows.

It’s much cooler inside, summer heat disappearing as the doors close behind them. Tobio squints, eyes adjusting.

Takeda waves him down a large, open hall, dark wooden desks and counters spaced evenly on either side of the red carpeting that bisects the entrance. Sunlight filters in from the rafters above and other windows that Tobio hadn’t seen from the front. Customers wait at benches, standing when beckoned to one of the desks, where clerks write down names, stamp papers, seal envelopes. Like the town just outside, Karasuno Postal Company is busy, brimming with activity and life.

“This way,” Takeda says, and Tobio follows him up the main stairs near the back of the hall, which leads to a second-floor balcony overlooking the first. Tobio can see how the main hall could have been the foyer, in another life. Every few paces on the balcony is a set of doors, no doubt offices and other departments.

Takeda turns left at the landing and knocks at a door near the corner, where the main hall balcony splits off into one of several hallways that lead further into the mansion. “Come in,” someone says from within.

Tobio shoves down the nerves and enters behind Takeda into a study. The door shuts behind him, and the echoing chatter of the main hall fades. There’s a fireplace to his right and a low table and some armchairs to his left; directly across from Tobio are two massive windows that let in light before a large desk cluttered with pens, stacks of paper, and strangely enough, a stuffed crow.

The man behind the desk stands. His hair is blonde everywhere except for his roots, held back by a headband, and his dress shirt is a dark wine color. He is wirier than Tobio had imagined him, middle-aged and with a discerning gaze. He walks to stand in front of the desk and folds his arms.

“You must be Kageyama,” he says, and Tobio jerks his head, once. His heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his throat.

“Yes sir,” he says, and the man claps his hands, easy grin making its way to his face.

Tobio feels something in him ease.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, kid,” he says. “My name’s Ukai Keishin, and I’m the co-president of the company. You’ve already met Takeda, he’s the other half of the operation. The better half of it, if I’m being honest.”

“That’s not true,” Takeda says, shaking his head earnestly, but he’s smiling. “Ukai is invaluable, he knows how to direct our, ah, energetic staff.”

Ukai wags his finger at Takeda and chuckles. Tobio doesn’t know if he should laugh too. He sneaks a look at Takeda, who apparently is his _boss_ , something he had failed to mention in the car _._ And he’d come to pick up Tobio from the hospital. Was that normal?

“Wouldn’t be here without him,” Ukai says, and then his face turns a little more serious. “I trust you’ve made a full recovery?” he asks Tobio.

Tobio nods, thumbs at his miracle scar. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Ukai says. “I’ll be frank with you: we could really use an extra hand around here. It’s been chaos these past few months. We’d be glad to have you, but it’s your choice, of course.”

Tobio, stupidly, feels a lump rise in his throat. It’s just a job offer, one he got because of Miwa.

Still, it feels…nice. To be needed.

“When do I start?” he asks.

Ukai exchanges a grin with Takeda and glances at the grandfather clock in the corner. “It’s a little late to make formal introductions today, so let me show you to your room first. You can start tomorrow, after you’ve gotten some rest.”

“My…” Tobio gapes at him. Now, apparently, his other boss is taking time out of his schedule to show him to a room? A room he didn’t even know he had?

“We have a few bedrooms on the upper floors for the mail carriers, but they’re empty,” Takeda explains as they leave the study. “Well, mostly.”

Mostly?

They walk down the hallway, farther away from the main atrium and come to a narrower set of stairs that leads to the third floor. On the third floor, the windows are all covered in dark green curtains, but Tobio still feels the warmth radiating from behind them. They pass one with its curtains pushed aside and Tobio catches a glimpse a different view of the road they took earlier; they must be on the western side of the building now.

“Sometimes our other employees sleep here if they have early morning deliveries, but other than one of our ghostwriters no one else lives here,” Ukai says.

For a moment, Tobio dreads the idea of having a roommate; he hadn’t had one when he was living on base before, and he’d like to keep it that way. But then Ukai stops in front of a door and opens it to reveal a small, empty room with wooden floors, sparsely decorated. There’s an iron frame with a neatly made bed on the right and a window directly across from the foyer, with a small desk in front of it.

“It’s not much,” Ukai says, almost apologetic. “But the view is nice at night.”

Tobio shakes his head vigorously. “No!” he says, and they look at him in surprise. “This is perfect. I thought I was going to have to find a place to stay alone.” He stares at the floor, the wood worn and smooth. “Thank you. For all of this.”

“You thought…” Takeda begins, and Ukai lets out a laugh. Tobio hunches his shoulders forward, embarrassed, until he realizes that there is no malice in their voices.

“Kageyama,” Ukai says, stepping forward to clap a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad to hear that you’re fine on your own—” Tobio flinches instinctively at _on your own_ —“but please, you don’t have to worry about that here. Your grandfather and mine go way back. Takeda told you that, right?”

At the mention of his grandfather, Tobio lets his shoulders retreat from his ears. He glances at Takeda, who smiles. “Yes. Sir. Yes, he did,” he says, voice small.

Another friendly clap on his shoulder, and Ukai nods. “Good. Now take the rest of the afternoon to get settled; we’ll start your training tomorrow.”

They leave, Ukai still chuckling— _he really though we were just gonna leave him out to dry like that, huh—_ Takeda flashing him another warm smile. It’s only after the door closes behind them, Tobio standing in the middle of his new room with a mostly empty suitcase, that he realizes he has no idea what his job is actually going to be.

“Well, no point in worrying about it now,” he mutters, and begins unpacking.

***

He only has a few simple shirts and pairs of pants, some socks. The necessities, which take him all of ten minutes to pack away in the dresser at the foot of the bed. However.

He removes the frame carefully, checking to make sure the wood hadn’t cracked while it was in his suitcase. It contains a fading photo of him, Miwa, and his grandfather in front of a small plane in a windy, golden field. Tobio was very young when it was taken, almost so young he can’t remember much about that day except that it had been warm, and he had been happy. He wears a worn aviator’s helmet that’s way too big for him, the goggles pulled up over his forehead. His hand is curled around one of Kazuyo’s fingers, and Kazuyo’s other hand is pointed to the camera as if to say _Tobio, look_. Miwa grins directly at the camera, her hand in the shape of a V as she stands proudly beside them, the other on her hip.

He puts the frame on the desk and flops down on the bed. Closes his eyes, contemplates the merits of taking a nap. But try as he might, he can’t seem to summon back that same sense of peace from this morning. Whatever he had been dreaming about, he’s forgotten.

“This is my new home,” he tries, tasting the words. They sound strange on his tongue. He throws an arm over his eyes and breathes, tries to relax. He’s gotten better at that recently; some of the nurses had given him tips for breathing exercises.

He breathes, and tries to bring back that same blue sky, tries to grasp at its infinity, the way he felt the first time Kazuyo-san let him sit in the cockpit with him. The way the world grew smaller and larger all at once; the sound of the motor, fading to wind.

***

_(The ground rushes to meet him. The radio splutters, fades out—why was no one answering? Why hadn’t they told him?_

_No one was there. No one had been there, and no one is here now._

Ah _he thinks. No one is coming._

Your fault your fault your fault _says the wind, and he can’t help but agree._

_So he falls, and the earth swallows him whole.)_

***

Tobio jerks awake from his half-slumber, sees that the sun is near setting.

He sits up, rubs his face. Decides to find something to eat.

***

_MISSION REPORT by: Kageyama Tobio_

_SQUADRON: LITTLE FALCONS_

_SERIAL NUMBER: 12221996_

_DATE: August 8 th, XXXX_

_Flight pattern A, Sector 3. No changes in enemy lines._

***

He wanders out to the streets below in search of food, always making sure to stick to the main road that leads back to the post office. If nothing else, all he has to do is head uphill if he gets lost.

A friendly street vendor sells him a sandwich and a bottle of milk, which he scarfs down. Pocketing the wrapper and considering the early evening, he decides that exploring should probably be limited to this street and the street in front of the post office, until he knows the area well enough to find his way back to it.

Miwa thinks it’s funny, how he can navigate the air so easily but not the ground below it.

 _It’s different_ he would protest. _There’s less stuff to get confused about, because you can’t see it. It’s just you and the sky._

 _That sounds more confusing, but whatever you say,_ she would laugh, shaking her head. By then, she had stopped going up with him and Kazuyo-san for a long time, anyway.

He misses her.

He walks back up the hill and around the main building. Everyone must’ve gone home for the day while he was napping, because when he passes an open window, the main hall is quiet and empty. He keeps walking until the cobble turns to grass beneath his feet, tickling his ankles. He trails a hand against the brick, still warm from the sun. Maybe he’ll ask Takeda if they can give him Miwa’s new address. Send her a letter, ask if she can come visit. The doctors said she visited when he was unconscious, but she couldn’t stay for long. It’s been over a year since he’s heard her voice.

He’s just turning the corner when he hears it—the rumble of an engine, achingly familiar. It’s almost pathetic, how quickly he looks to the sky, trying to find the source. Like it’s his own heartbeat, fingers fumbling for a pulsepoint.

A plane.

His hand drops and he starts running farther towards the back of the building, where the gentle slope ends in a near vertical cliff that renders the mountain inaccessible by foot. Between the building and the cliff is a small, dusty yard where some straggler cars are parked, perhaps those of some of the later-working employees. He squints against the golden rays of a sunset-to-come and turns in a full circle, seeing nothing else.

Where is it?

Eyes scanning—above the mountain, the cars, the trees, the little alcove that houses the back door to the building—nothing.

Where where where?

Then a shadow passes overhead, a blip in the light, and Tobio sees a small one-seater with an open cockpit, hears the motor roaring in triumph, when he sees it, hears it:

Hair as red as the sky above it, and then a whoop of pure, unadulterated joy. A fist held in the air, a black painted crow with the letters _KPC_ in an arc over its head, and then—

And then it’s gone as quickly as it came, disappearing over the cliffside and out of sight. The sound of the engine and the voice fades away shortly afterward, leaving Tobio motionless. The quiet returns.

He stares up at the setting sun for a moment more, heart still thudding in his chest. His arm aches—he realizes his hands are fists, clenched at his sides. He takes several deep breathes, forces air back into his lungs again. Pushes the longing back down, where it belongs.

Don’t. Not for him. Not anymore.

He turns back around—he’s pretty sure there’s probably a back entrance that’s faster, but until Takeda or Ukai show him how to get to his room from here, he’ll just get lost trying to find it.

That’s enough exploring for today.

***

When he finally falls asleep that night, restless despite the exhaustion, he does not dream.

***

The next morning finds him in Ukai’s study again. Today, there is a young man who looks to be a little older than Tobio standing near the fireplace, with a friendly smile and dark, closely cropped hair.

“Kageyama, good morning!” Ukai says from behind his desk. He’s shuffling papers around, but he looks up and gestures to the man when Tobio enters. “This is Sawamura Daichi, he’s gonna help assign you to a department.”

“It’s good to meet you, Kageyama,” Daichi says, extending a hand; Tobio shakes it and nods. “I work in management. It’s my job to make sure that no one around here, ah, gets too out of hand. So to speak.”

Tobio glances at Ukai, a question in his eyes.

Ukai just laughs. “You’ll see. It can get a little rowdy around here,” is all he says.

Well, that’s exciting. Daichi just grins at Tobio; Tobio already finds himself liking his easy stance, his hands in his pockets. “No need to look so worried,” he says. “We’re a good bunch, I promise you. Now, what would you like to do?”

Tobio blinks. “Uh,” he says eloquently. “I have a choice?”

“Well, yeah. We could use an extra hand pretty much in every department,” Daichi says. “We’re okay on ground floor staff, although if you wanted, we could put you there for a day just to see? It’s mostly customer service, forwarding requests…”

“No thank you,” Tobio says, very quickly. Daichi raises his eyebrows, and he looks away. “I’m…not good. At that kinda of stuff.”

He must be making a funny face, because behind Daichi, Ukai laughs again, his eyes crinkling. “Yeah, maybe not reception, captain,” he says.

Tobio feels a wave of relief.

“Alright, no first floor,” Daichi says, hand on his chin. “Okay, then. How about we start with super basic. Post office one-oh-one.”

He walks around Tobio and waves for him to follow.

“Good luck!” Ukai calls.

Back in the open air of the main atrium, they walk down the center stairwell to the first floor. A few customers are already starting to trickle in, tapping feet and fingers as they sit at booths and wait to be called, hats and bags in hand. Daichi walks towards the back of the hall, this time on the opposite side of Ukai’s office, across a row of pillars to a hallway where the spaces above the doorways are decorated with wooden lattice. Pretty.

“Um,” Tobio says. He tears his eyes away from the patterns of light they make on the wall. “Where are we going?”

Daichi just grins behind him and pushes open a door to a wide-open room only slightly smaller than the main hall, with the same wall-length windows. All long the width of the room are evenly-spaced rows of desks with drawers atop them, each with dozens of little compartments. Running along the windows are tables stacked with packages and letters, and a kind of ramp that circles the perimeter with a metal railing.

“This is our sorting room,” Daichi says. “I’ll introduce you to our—where the hell are they?…oi!”

Tobio wonders what time work usually starts, and if anyone in the mail room might know the pilot he saw yesterday evening. He glances at one of the letters, sealed with black wax, on a nearby table—yep, same crow logo—it must’ve been a company plane.

So they must work here, right?

Another door opens across the room; the tables block their view, so Tobio hears their voices before he sees them, a _Ryu, that was so cool!_ and _Did you see? Kiyoko-san had her hair up this morning—_

“You two!” Daichi says, voice louder. “Get over here, I need to introduce you to someone.”

“Here!” they say in unison. Two men, one with a shaved head and the other with hair that sticks straight up, appear from around one of the desks. The shaved one is not wearing a shirt.

“Daichi-san!” the guy with the shaved head says. “Is this the new recruit Ukai was telling us about?” He narrows his eyes at Tobio and pounds his bare chest, his shirt swinging in his hand almost menacingly. Tobio blinks at him

“Tanaka, put your damn clothes on. Nishinoya, stop egging him on,” Daichi says. He turns to Tobio. “I apologize, they can be a little—”

The shorter of the two—Nishinoya _,_ Tobio guesses—steps forward with a clacking noise. Tobio starts and looks down—he’s wearing…heeled boots?

“What do we have here, Daichi!” Nishinoya says, tapping his shoes against the wooden floors. The one with the shaved head—that must be Tanaka—nods and crosses his arms against his still-bare chest. Is he growling?

“This is Kageyama,” Daichi says. “He’ll be in your care for today. Show him the ropes, how things work around here.”

“Ah?” Tanaka says, sizing him up. “We have to babysit? Noya-san and I have lots of deliveries to make, you know. What if he can’t keep up?”

“Now, Ryu!” Nishinoya says, taking another clicking step forward; Tobio looks down at him. He really is short, if he’s wearing those heels. “Let’s not be hasty! What kind of skills do you have, newbie? Got a first name?” He raises an eyebrow at him, and Tobio is unsure which of the questions he should answer first.

“Tobio,” he decides, because he’s honestly not sure if he has any skills that would recommend him for this job, besides Miwa’s good word. “And, uh. I can read and write. And…I’m—I _was_ —a pilot.”

“A pilot?” Tanaka says. “Now that’s somethin’.” He squints at Tobio; Tobio shifts a little. “You in the military?”

Tobio swallows, suddenly hyperaware of their eyes on him. Even Daichi looks a little curious. “I—well, I’m ex-military. I was, uh.” He clears his throat. “Discharged. Right before the war ended.”

A moment of quiet. Tobio wants to sink into the floor. He’s sure at least Ukai and Takeda know about some of the details of his previous post, since the records are available to them as his current employers, but this is…uncomfortable. To say the least.

“Tanaka, for the last time,” Daichi says, and the moment passes. “Put on your shirt, this is a place of business. Now, you two,” Suddenly, his voice goes quieter, takes on a scary undercurrent, and even Tobio feels a little shiver of fear. “You guys are gonna show Kageyama here around because it’s the right thing to do.” He seems to tower over them, and they shrink. “And because I am your supervisor, and this is an order.” The two of them are visibly afraid; Tobio does not envy them. “Got it?”

“Yes sir!” they say.

He turns to Tobio, smiling again. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says with a nod, and Tobio feels a little panicky, being left here with these two who probably hate him, now. But Daichi’s already leaving, walking back out the way they came, and Tobio bites the words down.

A glance at Tanaka and Nishinoya. Tanaka’s just finished putting on his shirt, and Nishinoya is grinning almost wildly at Tobio.

“Welcome to Karasuno Postal Company!” he says, reaching for Tobio’s hand and shaking it. Tobio’s hand feels like it’s about to be flung off his wrist. “I’m Nishinoya Yuu, as you may have gathered, and this here—” he jerks a thumb at Tanaka, who looks considerably less scary now that he’s clothed— “is my partner-in-crime and fellow deliveryman, Tanaka Ryuunosuke.” He lets go of Tobio’s hand. “Together, we make up the best department in the entire company.”

“Damn straight,” Tanaka says, dusting off the same crow logo on the lapels of his vest. He grins at Tobio and shakes his hand as well, just as enthusiastic as Nishinoya had been. Tobio relaxes a little; maybe they don’t actually hate him. “We’ve never lost a single letter. Always on time. The best service in the city.” He pounds a hand against his chest. “And it’s all because of us mail carriers.”

“Now, now, let’s not get too excited here,” says a new voice from the door, and Tobio looks over his shoulder to see the newcomer—a man with silver hair and an easy smile. “You guys are underestimating us second floor people.” He steps into the room, waving a set of keys around his index finger. “Ah, there’s the newbie! Don’t let these two get you, they’re all bark and no bite.” He comes to a stop near the tables where they’re all standing. “I’m Sugawara Koushi. It’s nice to meet ya.”

Tobio’s head is swimming. “Nice to meet you too—"

“Suga-san, I assure you, I have bite!” Nishinoya says, heels clicking once more. “Ryu does too!”

Suga ignores him. “Kageyama, right?” he says, and Tobio nods, a little overwhelmed with all the introductions. “I’m sure you’ve heard it already, but we’re really glad you came on board. I work in accounting, if you ever want to check us out. Not the most exciting, but it’s a pretty peaceful compared to—” another swivel of the keys around his finger, indicating the mailroom, probably— “around here.”

“Oi, hold on!” Tanaka says, but true to Suga’s word, there’s no bite to it. “That’s not fair, we’re just…energetic! That’s what Take-chan says, and he’s always right.” An approving nod from Noya. “Anyway, if we’re such a headache, why are you here?”

Suga swings his keys around one more time. “Lookin’ for Hinata. Or Yamaguchi. We have another client looking for a Doll and it’s a little early, but I thought one of ‘em might be hanging around here.”

Tobio’s head, already reeling from so many new names, feels a bit like it’s about to explode. “Dolls?”

“Short for ‘Automemory Doll,’” Nishinoya says, pointing up towards the ceiling. “Office on the second floor. They write letters on behalf of others.”

“‘Behalf,’” Tanaka muses, hand to his chin. “Very nice, Noya-san.”

“Thank you, Ryu!”

Tobio looks away from them bumping chests to look at Suga, who has a hand to his forehead as if his is in pain as well. He sees Tobio looking and shakes his head, but he’s grinning. “Another department. Noya kind of explained it, but they’re basically ghostwriters. It’s easier to understand once you’ve seen them in action.”

“I see,” Tobio says, not really seeing.

“Yeah, wait!” Tanaka says, giving Noya one last congratulatory fist bump. “You live upstairs, right? You might’ve met one of ‘em already. Hinata Shouyou? Awesome guy. He lives on the third floor, too.”

 _Hinata?_ That must’ve been the person Ukai and Takeda had mentioned, although Tobio definitely hadn’t seen anyone else on the way back to his room last night.

So he shakes his head. “I haven’t met anyone.”

“Ah, well,” Suga says. “You’ll end up meeting everyone at some point, so it’s no big deal. Alright!” He holds up his hands for Nishinoya to high-five, then does the same for Tanaka. “I’m gonna go ask Tsukishima where Yamaguchi is, so.” He turns to Tobio with his hands up and an eyebrow quirked—Tobio very awkwardly high-fives him as well. “I’ll see y’all around.”

Before he leaves, he calls over his shoulder, “You two! Take care of him today! Or else Daichi’ll get mad.”

“Yessir!” they say again in unison. Apparently Daichi not getting mad is top priority around here. Tobio guesses it makes sense; despite how kind Daichi seems to be, Tobio’s not going to forget that scary thing he heard in his voice anytime soon.

The door closes shut behind Suga. Tanaka and Noya turn to look at Tobio, eager smiles on their faces.

“Um,” Tobio says. “What should I—"

“First things first!” Noya says, hand on his hip.

Tanaka nods sagely. “I agree.”

“Uniform,” they both say.

Energetic, Tobio remembers weakly, and lets them pull him along.

***

“Okay, so! When you’re finished with one bin, you can move onto the next. Just pull it over here…”

“Right, exactly what Ryu said! And don’t worry about going super fast, there’s always gonna be more that needs sorting anyway.”

“You got all that?” they say in unison again, turning to look at him.

Tobio tugs at the collar of his new uniform. The room is getting warmer as the morning progresses, but he’ll manage. He’s handled much worse.

“Yes,” he says. “Sort the mail into the bins. Got it.” Seems easy enough.

“Great!” Tanaka says. He slaps him on the back, and Tobio tries not to wheeze. Tanaka had warmed up to Tobio pretty quickly, once he saw how he listened intently to his instructions. “Noya-san and I have our morning deliveries, so I’ll leave you to it. Break room is upstairs for when you need it.”

Tobio nods; he can do this. This is easy.

***

Too easy, as it turns out. By the time Noya and Tanaka have returned late that afternoon, near early evening, he’s already done with over half the bins.

“Holy shit,” Noya says, mouth agape. He peers at all the compartments, now neatly slotted with the correct envelopes, then at the empty bins in the corner.

“You _did_ take breaks, right?” Tanaka asks, looking both impressed and distressed. “Like, you ate something? Used the bathroom?”

“I had lunch,” Tobio says with a shrug. Another sandwich, saved from last night, and then he’d gone back to work.

“Dude.” Tanaka shakes his head. “Go _home_. Man, you’re unbelievable.”

Tobio is still struggling to figure out if Tanaka meant _unbelievable_ in a good or bad way when his stomach makes an embarrassing gurgle.

“I—” he begins, and is promptly shoved from the room.

“Good work today!” Noya says. He is very strong, for someone so small. His and Tanaka’s hands push him forward, and he stumbles out of the doorway. “Don’t come back until you’ve gotten some rest!”

The door shuts behind him with a _clang_ , resolute.

“Well, alright then,” he mutters, and heads out the foyer and back down the hill in search of dinner.

***

“So, how’d it go?” Ukai says the next morning. Tobio is standing in his office again. He doesn’t know if these check-ins are going to be a daily thing, but it’s …nice. To check in with someone.

Daichi stands at one of the bookshelves behind his desk with some papers in hand. He looks up and says, “Nishinoya and Tanaka said you did three days’ worth of work, so that sounds promising.”

“It was…simple,” Tobio says. Truth be told, it was kind of boring, just standing there for hours putting envelopes into little boxes. But that seems rude to say in front of the man who hired and boarded him without so much as an interview, so he clears his throat. “Yeah, it was nice.”

“Hmm.” Ukai looks up from his papers and gives him a look that says he’s not fooled, his eyes amused. “Alright. How about we try deliveries today?”

Tobio doesn’t even realize he’s shaking his head until Ukai laughs. He flushes a little. “I, er. I’m not good with directions. Sir.”

“Oh, stop it with the sir, I’m not that old,” Ukai says. “Okay, I have an idea. Daichi, how about you show him the Doll department.”

And that’s how Tobio finds himself in the Automemory Doll department, on the second floor near the landing of the main stairwell.

The setup of the room is similar to Ukai’s personal office, just doubled in size and the walls lined with even more bookshelves. There are five walled desks before each of the windows, each with its own typewriter, and a small common area of booths and tables along the walls opposite the windows.

Seated at the common area is a group of people Tobio has yet to meet: a girl with short blonde hair, a tall, lanky guy with glasses, and another mousy-looking guy with lots of freckles.

When they enter, the girl stands immediately.

“Good morning!” she says.

“Yachi, hello,” Daichi says kindly. He turns to Tobio. “Kageyama, this is Yachi Hitoka. She’s one of our most highly requested Dolls and an excellent scribe.”

Tobio gives a quick bow. “Nice to meet you.”

The mousy guy with brown hair stands as well. He’s tall, Tobio thinks. “I’m Yamaguchi Tadashi!” he says, voice not quite as nervous as Yachi’s. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Yachi. Yamaguchi. “Nice to meet you, too,” Tobio says.

“And that’s Tsukishima,” Daichi says, and Tobio wonders if he’s imagining the dryness in his voice. “He works in accounting, so I’m not— _ahem—_ sure why he’s here.”

Tsukishima looks up from his book and nods, once, but otherwise gives off the impression that he couldn’t give two shits about Tobio’s presence. Nice.

“We have two others who work here,” Daichi says, introductions over with. “Ennoshita’s been called away for a client, so he won’t be back for a few weeks, and…” he looks at the group of people whose names are already slipping away from Tobio. Yachi. Yamaguchi. Tsukishima _._ Daichi sighs. “Where is Hinata?”

 _Hinata._ Tobio mouths the name silently, feels how it rolls off his tongue. _Hi-na-ta._ His neighbor and now a Doll, apparently. Sounds like the guy is never where he’s supposed to be.

At the thought, Tobio frowns a little. Back in his unit, reliability was key. Missions depended on showing up when you were needed. Not that it did him any good in the end, but. Still. 

“He said he had some errand to run,” Yachi says. She fiddles with a bracelet on her wrist, a pretty braid, threaded with gold. “But he’ll be back soon!”

“It’s not like he gets that many requests, anyway,” Tsukishima finally says, turning a page in his book. His voice is surprisingly soft, but his tone is dry, sarcastic. He doesn’t look up. Tobio officially dubs him Glasses Asshole.

“Hinata just got his certification!” Yachi says. “But so far all his clients have only had wonderful things to say!”

“Hmm.” Tsukishima turns another page.

“Um,” Tobio says. They all look at him and he grimaces. “I’m sorry, but…what exactly do Dolls…do?”

“That’s what we’re here to learn,” Daichi says with a grin. “Yachi, Yamaguchi, do you think one of you could show Kageyama around for a day? Maybe practice writing a letter or two.”

“Of course!” Yachi says immediately.

She really is kind. Tobio likes her.

A moment later, though, she wilts. “Ah, actually. I have a full day booked. I’m so sorry!” She bows to Tobio, and he blinks in surprise.

Daichi laughs. “Don’t apologize for giving us business.” He looks at Freckle Boy—Yamaguchi.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I’m all booked today, too,” he says, shaking his head.

“Damn, you guys are good,” Daichi sighs. “Alright, guess it’ll have to be Hinata, then.” He looks at Tobio. “That alright with you?”

Tobio shrugs. If it gets him out of working reception or the mail room (or, even worse, _accounting_ —Suga-san seems nice but there’s no way he’d work with math _and_ Glasses Asshole), then he can’t complain. “Sure.”

“Like I said,” Tsukishima says, adjusting his asshole glasses. “He doesn’t have many clients. Shrimpy’ll be over the moon.”

Tobio, strangely, feels the need to defend this Hinata guy, even though he’s never met him. He understands, a little. Being unpopular.

Daichi claps his hands, and Tobio jumps. “It’s settled, then. Just let him know whenever he gets back.”

“Will do!” Yachi says, and gestures for Tobio to sit beside her at one of the tables. He does so, feeling very awkward. Daichi leaves, props open the door with a book—“okay if I leave this open?” “Yeah, we’re about to get started here anyway!”—and then it’s just Tobio and the other three.

“So,” Yamaguchi says, leaning forward across the table. Tobio eyes him warily. “Tanaka-san said that you used to be in the air force! Is that true?”

“Yeah,” Tobio says, feeling very uncomfortable.

They all stare at him, even Tsukishima, who says “Oh?” Yamaguchi looks awed, and Yachi’s eyes are as wide as saucers.

Tobio tries not to squirm in his seat. He hates bringing up this up—people always think he’s something that he’s really not. And besides, it’s not like he’s the only one who’s been affected by the war; he’s seen the lighted candles and flowers in front of the missing persons bulletins near the train stations, the way people’s eyes go distant and inward.

The war is over. But ever since Tobio woke up in a hospital alone, he’s realized that for some people, it still isn’t. Maybe it never will be.

Suddenly, it’s all too much, their curiosity. He looks at the grain of the table, runs a finger along it. The wood is smooth, warm.

“Wow,” Yachi says, almost reverently. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her bow her head a little. “Thank you for your service!”

“No,” Tobio says on instinct, looking up, and blanches at the look of mortified horror on Yachi’s face. Tsukishima scoffs, and Tobio feels his face start to warm.

“Well, no, I meant—” he begins, stilted and awkward and horrible and oh God why—“Thank you, but I didn’t actually fight, exactly, I was just—”

The sounds of footsteps, fast and light, draw closer to the open door, and they all look up to see who it is. Tobio, too, turns to his savior, feels a rush of gratitude— _you just saved my life_ he might say, or _thank God, get me out of here_ —

He blinks, the words getting stuck in his throat. He doesn’t realize he’s standing until he hears, belatedly, the scraping of his chair against the floorboards.

Because a boy is leaping through the wooden doors into the sunlight, shoes in hand, shirt untucked. Like he’s in for a walk through one of the creekbeds behind Tobio’s old house, those little rivers that he and Miwa used to wade through when they were younger. And his _hair…_

Tobio sees the individual strands in the sunlight as if time has slowed, sees and thinks of the sky, which is strange. Because the sky Tobio is most recently acquainted with was always inky grey and filled with dust and ash. The kind that dirtied his dashboard, choked him with engine smoke, clouded his vision.

No—the gold that halos the boy’s head is that of a much earlier sky. One from a time he no longer knows. That same limitlessness, that same infinity.

Tobio can only stare.

The Boy Whose Hair Looks Like the Sky lands in front of Tobio, one foot in front of the other. He turns— _his eyes—_ and his arms fall to his sides, shoes swinging like windchimes. He opens his mouth; he wears a dangling earring, a single golden loop in his left ear, that arcs like a pendulum when he stops. Tobio holds his breath.

“Guys! Ukai said I have a client!” he says loudly, like they’re across the room instead of right in front of him. His voice is loud, piercing.

Ow.

Tobio blinks as the boy steps closer, still talking in that same loud voice. His hair looks normal, and on further inspection, sticks up in a million different directions. He’s…small, now that he’s not jumping in midair. Kinda squirrely looking.

Tobio has no idea where all those sky thoughts came from. The milk he had for breakfast this morning must’ve been spoiled or something.

Tsukishima snickers. “Did you actually stick around long enough to hear what he said? Or did you just come running in here like an idiot?”

Yamaguchi giggles.

Yachi says, very softly, “Ah, Hinata. Actually…”

So this is Hinata _._ Tobio squints at him. He looks familiar, in a non-sky related way. Have they met before?

Yachi finishes her explanation of the situation and points at Tobio, who’s still staring. Hinata’s smile, so bright before, dims when he looks at Tobio.

“Oh,” he says.

Tobio feels his heart plummet, all the way to the soles of his feet. _No, I_ , he wants to say. _I—_

But then Hinata’s face lights up again—too bright _—_ and he says, “Of course! Heh, I’ll show you around. Show you the ropes. I’m gonna be the best Doll in the city, so might as well as well pass on my wisdom!”

Tobio squints at him some more. “How?” he asks. “Glasses over here,”—pointing at Tsukishima—“says you don’t have any clients?”

It’s merely observation, not intended to offend, but apparently it’s the wrong thing to say. Hinata’s face twists up in anger, and he takes a step forward into the light, eyes alive with irritation. He waves his muddy boots in Tobio’s face, which, gross.

“Hey!” he says, jabbing one finger of his free hand into Tobio’s chest. Tobio just stares down at him, at his eyes so striking in the sunlight. “I’m going to be the best Doll in the city—no, the whole _continent_ , and then the world.”

“You said that already,” Tsukishima mutters under his breath. Yamaguchi snickers. For the first time since they’ve met, Tobio agrees with Glasses Asshole; in addition to never being where he’s supposed to be, Hinata is also _loud_. And confident without reason.

Tobio feels a spark of irritation. Who the hell does this guy think he is?

But then Hinata continues forward, nearly chest to chest with Tobio. All the air in Tobio’s lungs seems to be stuck there as Hinata opens his mouth again. “And if that means beating _you_ , then I’ll do that too.”

Tobio steps back and bats his hand away, tries to _breathe_. What is up with this guy? He scowls. “I don’t even know what the hell you guys _do_ ,” he points out, and for some reason he can’t take his eyes off of Hinata’s hair, his narrowed eyes—so annoying.

“Well, then.” Hinata finally takes a step back and folds. his arms over his chest. He looks Tobio up and down, lip jutted out. A challenge. “I’ll show you. And once you get good, I’ll beat you, fair and square.”

They stare at each other for a moment more. This is stupid, Tobio thinks in disbelief. He’s a dumbass. Maybe the mail room really is better; there’s no way this is worth all this trouble. He didn’t even say he wanted to be a Doll.

And yet. Hinata’s eyes are steady, unwavering. Like a promise.

“Um…” someone says, and it’s like the weird energy in the room dissipates immediately. Air returns to Tobio’s lungs, and Hinata blinks. He looks away from Hinata and sees that Yamaguchi is standing behind him, trying to get by. “My client will be here soon, so if I could just…”

Tobio springs away to make room, and it’s only then that he realizes how close he and Hinata were standing next to each other.

“Well, that was entertaining,” Tsukishima says, and he stands as well. He smirks at Tobio. Tobio bristles. Why the hell does he look so smug? “Good luck trying to learn from Hinata. You’re gonna need it.” And then he, too, leaves.

“I’m going to get ready for my client,” Yachi says to the space between him and Hinata, as if she’s not sure where to look. “Just…let me know if you guys need anything, okay?”

“Of course!” Hinata says, all the steel gone from his voice as he turns to her smile at her. “Thanks, Yachi-san! Write lots of good letters today!”

“Thank you, Hinata.” She glances at Tobio, who just nods. “Have fun!” She smiles like she knows something—is everyone at KPC weird?—and Tobio thinks she’s going to say something else, but then she just shakes her head and walks away.

And then it’s just the two of them. Hinata stares at him, eyes narrowed. Tobio glares back; what the _hell_ is this guy’s problem? Tsukishima may be an asshole, yeah, but at least he wears shoes indoors like a normal person. At least he doesn’t barge into rooms yelling at the top of his lungs and challenging people he’s never even met.

Hinata shifts again, sitting down right then and there to put on his boots. Tobio just…watches him.

He’s always moving _._ Even now—laces now tied in double knots, standing with a groan and crossing his arms, a finger tapping on his elbow, chewing on his lip—Hinata is…fidgety. None of the stillness, the precision of movement, that Tobio is so accustomed to.

Hinata sighs, interrupting his thoughts. He walks closer; Tobio panics before he realizes that he’s actually walking past him, towards a desk in the farthest corner from the entrance, near the window.

“Come on, then,” he says with a sigh. A glance back. “What’s your name?”

Tobio follows and sits in the chair that faces the window, just as Hinata stands behind the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “Kageyama Tobio.”

Between them sits a gleaming typewriter.

“And you?” Tobio says, because it’s probably polite to ask. And he doesn’t know Hinata’s given name yet.

To his surprise, Hinata does not answer immediately. Instead, he curtseys, head bowed low, none of the restlessness from earlier in his movements. His bow is graceful, practiced. Smooth as a summer sky.

Tobio just stares. “Oi, what are you—"

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Hinata says, and even his voice is different—elegant and unhurried. Soft. Tobio stares at him in the morning light. “I will travel anywhere to meet your request.”

Watching Hinata, the air leaves his lungs once more, like the moment just before the takeoff. Weightless. Suspended.

“Auto-Memory Doll,” he says, rising. “Hinata Shouyou, at your service.” He levels his gaze with Tobio’s; his eyes are pure gold.

Behind him, in the latticed frame of the window, lies the open sky.

***

Then, Hinata grins, and time flows again. “Well?” he says.

Tobio discovers that his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. He unsticks it with a vengeance. “Well, what?” he says, and it’s snappier than he means it to be.

Hinata doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, doesn’t mind Tobio’s tone. “That’s how you have to introduce yourself to clients!” He takes a seat and folds his hands together over his head, stretching. “That’s like, Doll Thing Number One.” He grins and props his elbows on the desk, puts his chin in his hands. “Think you can do it?”

There’s a challenge in his voice, and, well. Tobio has never been one to back down from a challenge.

“How hard can it be,” he says, scoffing. “All you did was curtsey and say the name of your job. I can do that.”

Hinata sighs, hand to his forehead. “No, _Bakageyama_ , it’s much more than that!” He ignores Tobio’s noise of annoyance at the new nickname. “It’s the first thing your clients are gonna see—first impressions are important!”

Huh. Tobio can’t deny that. While it doesn’t bother him, he doesn’t have the best track record with good first impressions.

“Fine,” he huffs. “But I’ll practice it later. You still haven’t told me what the hell being a Doll means.”

“Right! Well—” and Hinata rolls a blank sheet of paper into the typewriter. “It’ll be easier to show you. First thing’s first: who do you want to send a letter to?”

A moment. Tobio squints at him. “Is this a test?”

Hinata lets out a noise of frustration. “This is _training_. Which, if you decide to be a Doll, you’ll have to go to a real training camp and do this with someone else, so better to practice it now!” He leans forward, voice leaning no room for argument. “Now, who would you like to send this to?”

Tobio should’ve stayed in the mail room. Hinata’s eyes are almost too much, with how they stare at him. Intense. Tobio feels like he needs to rise to meet him.

He’s still waiting, one eyebrow raised.

So Hinata won’t back down. Fine, then. Neither will Tobio.

“My sister,” he says finally, looking away when Hinata’s mouth parts in surprise. “I want to send a letter to Miwa.”

When he chances another look back up, Hinata is already typing, keys a-clacking. Tobio feels the table rattle beneath them and wonders if the grace he just saw in Hinata’s weird introduction was also a hallucination brought on by bad milk. He really needs to find a new vendor. 

“Okay!” Hinata says. “Date and greeting are all set up. What do you want to say to her?”

“Um…” What _does_ Tobio want to say to Miwa?

He remembers waking up in the hospital, the heavy weight in his stomach when she wasn’t there. Her pressing out the shoulders of his suit at the funeral. How every summer, before the weather turned sweltering, she’d cut his hair in their little kitchen so he could see better through his helmet goggles.

“I—” he says. Hinata’s hands are still, ready. “I…don’t know.”

“You don’t know what you want to say your own sister?” Hinata’s voice is incredulous, and Tobio flinches, face warming with shame. His hands turn to fists in his lap. _Leave it to the king to not know how to talk to commoners._

He sends a glare across the table; Hinata raises his hand in a placating gesture. “Hey,” he says softly. “It’s okay. It’s not easy.”

It’s not what he’s expecting—Tobio blinks, the anger draining away.

“That’s why you have me!” Hinata continues, and doesn’t notice when Tobio chokes on air. “That’s what Dolls do—we take the words our clients can’t say and put them in letters! There’s so much you can say in a letter that you can’t say out loud.” He smiles at the typewriter, small and almost like a secret. Tobio wants to know what it is. “Letters connect us. That’s why I’m going to be the top Doll in the world. I’ll get to scribe for all kinds of interesting people, learn about them and their stories. Deliver happiness.” He looks up and directs that smile at Tobio, so bright it’s nearly blinding. “That’s what Dolls do.”

The lump in Tobio’s throat, he realizes, is probably not from bad milk.

“I miss her,” he blurts out, and clears his throat when Hinata tilts his head. “My sister. Could you…tell her that?”

He feels small, like he’s five years old again. Like Kazuyo-san is teaching him new words. _Crosswind. Pitch. Descend._ Hinata is smiling again. _Lift._

“That’s good!” he says. Tobio expects him to start typing, but he lifts his hands from the keys to scratch his head. “I have a sister too. I miss her all the time. She’s younger than me, though, so I worry about her a lot. It was even worse before the war ended, ‘cause we’d write to each other every week but the mail got lost sometimes.” He glances at Tobio. “So I’m sure she’s worried about you, too, and that she misses you.”

Tobio feels…weird. Like he’s been warmed up all over. Which is dumb, because the temperature and the number of people in the room haven’t changed. He can hear the low murmurs of the other Dolls and their clients, feel a bit of a draft from one of the cracked windows behind Hinata.

Hinata is still looking at him. Still, Tobio is warm, and he doesn’t know why. Strange.

“How did you know I’m younger than Miwa?” he finally asks. He can’t believe that Hinata, who exudes the same energy as a five-year-old, is actually the older sibling. It feels like he’s lost, somehow.

Hianta grins once more, then puts his hands back on the keys.

“Just a hunch,” he says, voice all too knowing for Tobio’s comfort.

Tobio doesn’t push it.

They spend about an hour or so on the letter. Hinata asks Tobio questions, like _when was the last time you saw her?_ (over a year ago) and _what’s the thing you miss most about her?_ (he had thought for a moment before answering “just her being there, I guess”). He shrugs hopelessly for much of it, but Hinata is surprisingly patient. He types every now and then, brows furrowed in concentration.

(Tobio tries not to stare. He does not succeed).

“Done!” Hianta finally says, and he pulls the paper out of the rollers, smoothing it over before handing it to Tobio to read. “You should always make sure the client reads and approves it before mailing.”

Tobio takes it. Despite how long they’ve been working, there are only a few lines:

_Dear Miwa,_

_How are you? I hope work with the Haibas is going well. I just got settled at my new post at KPC. And thank you for setting this up with Takeda-san and Ukai-san, I really appreciate it._

_I miss you. Hopefully we can see each other again soon, whenever work permits._

_Love,_

_Tobio._

Tobio looks up slowly.

Hinata is nearly vibrating in his seat. “Well?”

The letter, while short, conveys what he feels perfectly. No frills or unnecessary words. It’s as if he wrote it himself, as if his thoughts were transferred directly to the page.

“It’s…good,” he says, and frowns a little at the neat typography. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?” Hinata props an elbow on the desk and sets a hand on his hand, eyes wide and innocent. Too innocent.

Tobio glares at him. “You know what I mean. How did you know what words to write?”

“Oh, that!” Hinata sits up and smiles; Tobio feels another twinge of…annoyance. It’s definitely annoyance. “It’s because I’m such a good Doll, obviously.”

Tobio’s face must do something weird, because Hinata immediately backtracks. “Okay, okay! Fine. It’s like…you just kinda know?” Another nervous glance at Tobio, and he blanches. “Like! Like reading a book in another language, almost. You have to get good at figuring out what people really mean. Does that make sense?”

Tobio’s frown deepens. His hands tighten around the paper, wrinkling it slightly where it says _Love._ “No, not really. You suck at teaching.”

“Hey!” he protests. “I’m still pretty new at this myself! And besides, I’ve never had to teach anyone, either.” He sits back in his chair, chewing on his lip. Tobio thinks he’s gonna say something snarky again, but after a moment, he just sighs. “Alright. Why don’t you try?”

The frown evaporates. “Try…writing a letter?”

“Of course, dummy. How else are you gonna learn?”

The headache from yesterday begins to make a reappearance. Tobio pinches the bridge of his nose and tries very hard not to yell; there are still customers and Yachi and Yamaguchi in the room, after all.

_How else are you going to learn? The plane isn’t going to fly itself, Tobio._

Hinata is looking at him, all wide-eyed and…annoying.

“Okay, fine,” he says. “What do I do?”

The grin Hinata gives him makes Tobio’s stomach do something funny. Stupid milk _._ “Okay! First, let’s just—” and he stands—“switch places with me.”

The sunlight, brighter now, does not do Tobio’s head any favors when it hits Hinata’s ridiculous hair. Tobio doesn’t move at first, still staring at how it shifts in the light—red, and orange, and even bits of gold—

“You do know how to use a typewriter, right?” Hinata asks with a snicker.

Tobio stands as well, shooting another glare. “Of course I do. I used to be in charge of writing reports, at my last job.” Up to a certain point, but Hinata doesn’t need to know that.

“Good!” he says, turning and leaning over to one of the cubbies along the wall. He pulls out another sheet of paper. He comes to sit in the seat that Tobio had just been in, and now Tobio sees how the sun turns his eyes all different shades of brown and gold. Pretty. “Let’s try typing something simple to see how fast you can go. Just a few paragraphs.”

It’s slow going at first. Tobio has to remember where all the keys are, and also where to place his hands, but once he gets the hang of it, he picks up speed, fingers flying. He’s vaguely aware of Hinata whistling, low and impressed. That’s right, Tobio thinks, almost smug. This is what precision looks like. Once he really gets going, he finds that typing is almost like piloting, the steady rhythm of the metal underneath his hands, the acceleration as the words come faster and faster, louder and louder—

_“Stop!”_

Tobio pauses, one hand suspended in midair. Hinata is giving him a strange look, almost…frightened.

They stare at each other, silent.

“What?” Tobio says. “Scared I’m faster than typing at you?”

The look (Fear? Concern?) is immediately replaced by one of indignation. “What? As _if_. _”_ He crosses his arms and sticks his tongue out. Tobio smirks a little; neither of them had been counting, but he knows he was typing faster that Hinata had been. Serves the dumbass right for being so cocky.

But then Hinata smirks as well, and Tobio feels chills despite the warmth of the sun on his back.

“Alright, then,” Hinata says, excitement returning to his voice. “Onto the letter. I wanna write one to my friend Kenma.”

Tobio begins typing. _Dear Kenma._ “Last name?”

“‘Kozume,’ but you can leave it out. Just ‘Kenma’ is fine.”

“Alright,” Tobio says, looking up from his keys. “What do you want to say to him?”

Hinata tips his chair back and looks up at the ceiling. Now that he’s the one in direct sunlight, Tobio can see faint freckles that dot his skin, dusting across his collarbones and on his cheeks, like stars. He looks away.

“Hmm…I saw him a few months ago? We’re from the same province, but we didn’t become friends until the war started. We were in the same class in flight school—”

“Wait, you’re a pilot?” Tobio asks, not even realizing he’s interrupting until Hinata raises an eyebrow at him. “Sorry,” he mutters.

The legs of Hinata’s chair hit the ground, and Tobio flinches. “Yeah?” Hinata says, and he doesn’t sound annoyed, just…curious. “I deliver mail.”

Oh. That makes sense.

Hinata still looks curious, head tilted slightly. “Why?”

Tobio opens his mouth; closes it. What could he possibly say? _I used to be a pilot, too, but now I’m not._ “Cool,” he says instead. Clears his throat, stares at anything but Hinata’s wide eyes. “Okay, what else do you want in the letter?”

Hinata shrugs and goes back to leaning on two legs of his chair; he’s gonna fall flat on his ass, and Tobio will laugh at him. “I just hope he’s doing alright. He co-runs a theatre company with his friend—real tall guy named Kuroo, kinda looks like a rooster—and all their plays are amazing. He’s a ‘lil quiet, but he’s a really good listener. Probably one of my oldest friends.” His voice turns wistful, softer. “They’ve been pretty busy with relocating after the war, so it’s been awhile. I miss talking to him.”

Tobio feels a twinge—he gets it. Missing someone. And it’s kinda ironic, how one of Hinata’s good friends is apparently quiet. Kinda like Tobio, actually.

Tobio shakes away the weird thought immediately, tries to return to the task at hand until he realizes that Hinata’s done talking. “Wait, that’s it?” he asks. “That doesn’t tell me anything.”

“That’s about how much you gave me,” Hanta says, sticking his tongue out. “And it took a lot longer to get the same amount of information out of you. Now do you see how hard this job is?”

The glare Tobio sends his way could curdle milk, but he refuses to lose to a dumbass who can, apparently, both fly _and_ write good letters.

“Fine,” Tobio nearly spits out, and starts typing. He can do this; it can’t be that hard to take some dumb words and put them on paper.

He finishes after five minutes (much faster than Hinata did for him, he notes smugly), and takes the paper out of its rollers to hand to Hinata.

Hinata takes it; their fingers brush for an instant. He begins reading.

Then, after a moment, he bursts out laughing.

Tobio feels his face heat up, watching the skin crinkle around Hinata’s eyes. _“What?”_ he snaps, equal parts humiliation and rage rushing through him. He reaches out and snatches the paper from Hinata, swearing.

“Kageyama-kun,” Hinata says, shoulders still shaking. “Just—read it, will you?”

Tobio wants to crawl into a hole and die, and maybe take Hinata with him. But that would be admitting defeat. He clears his throat.

_Dear Kenma,_

_We haven’t seen each other in many months. I hope your theatre company is doing well, even though being a pilot is a better career choice (you should know, since we went to flight school together). I wish to speak with you soon. Reply as soon as possible._

_Regards,_

_Hinata Shouyou._

Tobio furrows his brow. “What the hell’s wrong with it?” he snaps. “The grammar is perfect, and the message is clear. I included everything you said.” He feels, more than the embarrassment, confused. It’s quickly overtaken by annoyance when he sees that Hinata is still laughing. “Stop laughing, dumbass.”

Hinata finally quiets, chuckles giving way to a smile instead. “Okay, okay.” He reaches for the paper clenched in Tobio’s hand and smooths it out, almost gentle. “I’m impressed, actually. When I first saw you, I thought you were illiterate.”

Oh, he’s dead. He’s dead meat. “I am going to _kill_ you,” Tobio says, and Hinata gives a little _eep_. His gentle motions over the paper cease; he holds it up to the light and raps his knuckles against it.

“Okay, so. Your vocabulary and grammar are fine, and yeah, the meaning of the words is clear.”

“Just tell me what the hell is wrong with it,” Tobio growls, and Hinata’s face turns serious, smile fading.

“But the _emotion_ ,” he says, “what I really want to say—that I really miss him, that I’m grateful for our time together in school, that I’m proud of his success—all of that is missing.”

Tobio stares at him, uncomprehending. “But you didn’t tell me what to write,” he says. “How the hell was I supposed to know all that?”

“‘All that,’ Kageyama-kun,” Hinata says, and there’s a gleam in his eye that Tobio recognizes—he’s seen it twinned in his own, when Kazuyo-san gave him his first helmet, told him _you look like a real pilot now, Tobio!_ “Understanding ‘all that’ is part of our job. Not every client is gonna tell you their life story. Sometimes they’re constipated like you and you have to fill in the gaps yourself.”

Tobio’s preparing to punt his head for the constipation comment when Hinata picks up Tobio’s letter, the one addressed to Miwa, now sealed with black wax. He presses it into Tobio’s palm, and Tobio’s thoughts stutter to a halt. “That’s what makes this job so hard.”

Hinata’s hands are warm and dry. Tobio’s own hands close over the letter as he looks down at the seal—a crow with an envelope in its beak, mid-flight.

“But,” Tobio says again, and he wants to understand, doesn’t know why this is important but it _is_ —“how did you know?”

“It’s what I said before.”

Tobio looks up as Hinata stands, retracting his hands to place them on the desk. Suddenly, Tobio’s palms feel empty, cold. “Letters connect us,” he says. “To be a good Doll, you have to understand the human soul. What it means to love.”

Tobio feels something lodge itself in his throat, heavy and familiar. He sees earth growing closer, hears phantom wind in his ears.

Then Hinata steps back and curtseys once more, low and graceful. “Thank you for using the Auto Memory Doll Service,” he says. He smiles at Tobio, bright as the sunlight that bathes him, turns him golden.

Tobio’s headache is officially back in full force.

***

_MISSION REPORT by: Kageyama Tobio_

_SQUADRON: LITTLE FALCONS_

_SERIAL NUMBER: 12221996_

_DATE: August 25 th, XXXX_

_Flight pattern C. No changes in enemy lines. Some disagreements over the comms regarding breaking formation while in air._

_[Transcript attached]._

_*_

_MISSION TRANSCRIPT_

_[UNPUBLISHED, FOR BRANCH RECORDS ONLY]_

_FALCON 12: Fall back into line. We’re leaving this area._

_FALCON 3: C’mon, we’re safe here. No need to be so uptight._

_FALCON 12: Just because we’re near base doesn’t mean we can let our guard down. Come back._

_FALCON 6: Just listen to him, will ya? Or we’ll never hear the end of it._

_FALCON 12: Return immediately. That’s an order._

_FALCON 6: Fine, fine, yeesh. Whatever you say, your majesty._

***

When he sleeps that night, he dreams of raining letters, each envelope falling from a sky the color of Hinata Shouyou’s hair.


	2. The Voice in My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Another sunny day.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y1sesoUrGes&list=PLJbWNarT9D8msO9D8p3nvq7Wj9FBQvvkC&index=6&ab_channel=AaronMelgarr)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh hello!! Here is the rest of the fic! Thank you sm to everyone who left such lovely comments and kudos on chapter one; I'm so excited to share the rest of this! All chapter titles and summaries are from the OST, which I'll have linked. I really love this soundtrack LOL
> 
> Also!! Pearl posted the cutest extras for this story, which you can find [here](https://twitter.com/pearlsama/status/1340146382271774726?s=20)!! I can't thank her enough for all her beautiful art! <33

“You want to become a Doll?”

Ukai’s face is surprised, mouth slightly open. Takeda and Daichi walk into the office not a moment later. It is early morning, and Tobio’s third day at Karasuno Postal Company.

“Eh?” Takeda says, just as Ukai says, “Are you sure?”

Daichi only grins.

Tobio feels his hands clench at his sides, his voice tight but determined. “Yes.”

Takeda and Ukai share a glance; something passes between them.

Tobio wonders what it’s like to be able to speak like that, without words.

Then, after what feels like a lifetime, Ukai nods, and Takeda turns to face Tobio.

“Why?” he asks.

Last night, Tobio had wondered the same as he stared at the shadows of his ceiling. Thought about flying and letters, and what was left from the fall.

Tobio opens his mouth, pauses. The words come slowly. “Hinata said that…in order to be a good Doll, you have to understand people’s feelings. I…” His nails dig into his palms; he needs to trim them soon. “I want to understand. And I know that I can if I become a Doll.”

Ukai and Takeda exchange another glance. Something in Tobio’s chest aches when he sees them, and he doesn’t know why.

“If I may,” Daichi says. “Most people decide to become a Doll because they already understand.”

For the briefest of moments, Tobio’s heart falters.

“But,” Daichi says.

“But,” Ukai repeats, nodding at Daichi. They are both smiling. “If it’s what you really want, you’ll hear no complaints from any of us.”

Takeda nods and smiles as well. “You have our full support, Kageyama-kun.” He adjusts his glasses and picks up a stack of papers on the table near the fireplace. “Well, I’ll reach out to some people today, see if we can get you enrolled in some training sessions.”

Training sessions? Wait yeah, Hinata said there would be some of those. Tobio shakes away the annoyance he seems to feel every time he thinks of Hinata Shouyou. He’d show him—he could do this.

“Thank you, sir!” he says, bowing low to Takeda, who smiles at Tobio on his way out the door. He turns to Ukai and begins to do the same, but Ukai holds up a hand.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says, and he smiles, wide and approving. “Thank me by becoming a good Doll. Daichi?”

Daichi is smiling, too. “I’ll let the others know.”

***

“So you’re doing it? You’re really doing it?”

Tobio nearly falls off the roof. He blinks, blinks again—yeah, that’s Hinata to his right, scooching his butt over the shingles to get closer.

“Oi!” Tobio shouts, then remembers it’s late and the neighbors can probably hear them, even two streets down. “Oi,” he says, slightly softer. “You’re gonna fall.”

The night is warm, the lights of the city below bright. He sits with one leg propped up, facing the curve of the bay, now blue with shadow. Despite his warning, Hinata keeps scooching. “Dumbass,” Tobio says.

“I won’t!” Hinata protests, and sure enough, he makes his way over the little steeple that houses Tobio’s window and comes to sit beside him, leaning back on both arms when he’s all settled. Even in the darkness, the moonlight and the glow from the street below turn his hair alight, to candleflame. He smiles; Tobio looks away quickly.

“Didn’t realize you were the new neighbor,” Hinata says, and Tobio grunts. _Who else would it have been?_ he’s about to say, but Hinata isn’t finished yet. “My room is right next door, by the way. If you ever need anything.”

A pause. He glances at Hinata sideways and that finds that he’s still looking at him. Still smiling. “Need…anything?” he repeats, the words clumsy and unfamiliar. He frowns. “What would I need?”

He feels, more than sees, Hinata shrug. “I dunno. Someone to talk to. Advice on how to be the best Doll ever. Speaking of which, you never answered my question.”

Tobio clears his throat, mind still caught on _someone to talk to_. There it is again, that same ache from this morning. “What question?”

“You’re really gonna do it? You’re gonna be a Doll?”

Tobio gives in; he turns to look. Hinata’s face is open, excited, half in shadow, half in a glow that seems to come from his smile, not the sky or the city. His lips are a challenge. Tobio wants to rise to meet them—it.

“Yeah,” he says, and it is an effort not to blink. The breeze picks up a little. “I’m gonna—”

“I’m gonna beat you!” Hinata says, sitting up and pumping his fist in the air. Tobio scowls.

“Oi, don’t interrupt,” he mutters, but the thrill in his veins, at the light sees in Hinata’s eyes—he is honest with his whole body, Tobio is discovering. He is someone Tobio can easily read, perhaps the first. He turns away again to face the sleeping city, the ships gliding silently across the inky harbor.

He met Hinata just yesterday.

And yet—and yet, he is here now.

“Hey,” he says, breaking the quiet. His heart thunders; he watches one ship slide into port, coming to a gentle stop. “Was that you, the other day? Flying?”

Hinata jolts up so suddenly Tobio is afraid the dumbass is going to fall off the roof and die. “You _saw_ me? Where?”

Tobio jabs a finger behind him. “Out back. You were yelling like an idiot.”

“Hey!” he says, but he looks pleased. He leans back, arms crossed under his head. “I haven’t had time to fly for fun in awhile. ‘Course I was excited.”

Tobio frowns again; he can’t deny the joy he’d heard in Hinata’s voice.

(There was a time he felt the same, after all. That much he knows).

“Why?” Hinata asks.

Another ship is arriving to port, this time from the northern part of the bay. This one is smaller, with sails that unfurl like hands instead of stacks that spit smoke. “What?”

“Why do you ask?” Hinata says, and oh, that’s the same voice he used when Tobio asked if he was a pilot yesterday. Steady, curious, unthreatening.

And yet Tobio feels something close, ringing with finality—not quite a threat, but something else just out of reach. Like he’s…turning Tobio over in his hands, examining him.

Wait—he glances at Hinata, realization dawning.

Hinata can accept that a guy like him, who cannot even find the words for his own sister, wants to become a Doll, but with this—this one thing, and Hinata sniffs it out like a bloodhound?

Who the hell is this guy?

It’s like standing on the edge of something, terrifying and unknown. Tobio has no idea how far down it goes, how wide it spans. All he knows is Hinata is still looking at him, eyes wide, hair tousled by wind, and he has no idea what to say in the face of such intuition.

“You were flying too low,” he says, and stands, quick but careful. He’s tired, and Takeda said that he would being training early tomorrow morning. He needs to sleep. “You could’ve hit the mountain, dumbass.”

“I was _not_ going to hit the mountain, Bakageyama. You’re so critical, yeesh,” comes the reply, and Tobio steps through his window into his room. A moment later, light footsteps follow, and Tobio nearly falls off his desk when Hinata bumps into him from behind.

“What the hell—watch where you’re _going_.” Tobio’s arms flail as he tries to balance himself. He shoots another glare back over his shoulder.

“It’s faster if I go this way!” Hinata says, cheerful and not at all considerate or cute. After Tobio finishes clambering down from his desk, he leaps off the windowsill onto the floorboards with a light _thump_. “And safer this way, too.” He strolls to the door and opens it. Pauses. Then he turns, gives a little wave.

Tobio raises his hand to wave back, confused.

“Come and find me when you finish training!” Hinata says, that same grin on his face, and the door closes with a click behind him.

Tobio’s still standing in front of his desk, arm up, night breeze and open window at his back. He lets his hand drop. He hears Hinata’s door open, the _creak_ audible through the thin walls, then close. He rubs his temples; he really needs to get a grip. Having Hinata as a teacher was bad enough, and now as a neighbor…?

_Someone to talk to!_

Simply said. Easily said. No strings attached; an honest offer.

Huh. Maybe—

“GOOD NIGHT, BAKAGEYAMA,” Hinata bellows out his open window to mountains, to the streets, the harbor, the _entire fucking city_. “I’M GOING TO BEAT YOU—!”

 _“Go the fuck to sleep, you idiot!”_ Tobio yells back out to the night sky, and then he slams his window closed. The curtains still, his room quiets.

“See you tomorrow!” says a muffled voice through the wall, followed by a thump that sounds like Hinata throwing himself on his mattress. His bed must be on the same wall as Tobio’s.

After a moment in which he ascertains that there will be no more nighttime declarations of war, Tobio slides under the covers of his own bed. “See you tomorrow,” he says, too quiet for Hinata to hear.

He is not smiling. He is not.

***

The building is near the bell tower Tobio saw on his first day, past the factory district. Even though Tobio left early, he’s still late. Got lost.

“Three tardies count as an absence,” says the instructor, an older man with a hunched back, white hair, and bags under his eyes.

Tobio bows in apology. “Yes, sir. I apologize.”

The instructor nods, and Tobio takes the only available seat next to a guy with blonde hair and brown roots. Tobio thinks of Ukai for a moment, and wonders if dyeing hair is in fashion this year. He’d have to ask Miwa.

Huh. Is Hinata’s hair dyed? Surely that shade of orange…

“My name is Washijo Tanji,” the instructor says. “This course is intended to prepare you for certification to work as an Auto-Memory Doll. Although our diploma is not necessary to work as a Doll, those who undergo our selection process and receive certification can find work in any city they wish.” His voice is severe, matter-of-fact; he kind of reminds Tobio of Iwaizumi-san.

“The first task will measure your typing skills,” he continues, and Tobio feels a smile work its way onto his face. “Find a partner and take turns reading the passage in your books.”

His smile fades. A partner?

“Hey there, Mr. Late,” says the blonde guy next to him. He lifts a hand up and smiles, all teeth. “Wanna be partners?”

Blonde Guy’s name is Miya Atsumu, and he types just as fast as Tobio does. He has a thick accent that Tobio can’t place—probably somewhere from up north—which makes the reading exercises interesting, to say the least. They spend half of the week on reading, typing, and proof-reading grammar. He starts calling Tobio by his first name at the end of day one, and Tobio doesn’t correct him.

It’s nice, to have someone who can keep up, even if the guy is a little strange. Tobio swears he sees him on the street on Tuesday, walking in the opposite direction of the warehouse where they have class.

When Tobio asks him, he says, not looking up from his typewriter, “Oh, that was my brother, Osamu. He was just droppin’ off my lunch; he owns some fancy restaurant uptown.” He suddenly purses his lips, scrunches his eyebrows. “It’s cooler bein’ a Doll, though.” He punches the next few keys on his typewriter a little harder than necessary. “Way cooler.”

There’s something there, but Tobio doesn’t ask. Isn’t his business.

On Thursday, they start writing letters.

“Alrighty, Tobio-kun,” Atsumu says. Their desks are facing each other now, typewriters between them. “Who do ya wanna write this letter to?”

To Tobio’s annoyance, his first thought is that he should write to Hinata. Which is dumb, because Hinata’s away right now, scribing for a client. (Apparently, he had left the morning after their talk on the roof. Tobio hasn’t seen him since.)

“Uh,” Tobio says, and glares at his hands. What the hell would he even say to Hinata? He looks up. “My boss. Ukai Keishin.”

“Ohhhkay,” Atsumu says. “What do ya want to say to him?”

Tobio shrugs. “I’m in the process of completing the course. I’m going to become a Doll.”

Atsumu’s eyebrows are nearly to his hairline. “That’s it?” He snorts. “Come on, now, that ain’t a letter; that’s a report, Tobio-kun.”

Tobio feels helpless again; what is with people being unsatisfied with his reports? What else is there to say?

He glances past Atsumu, at another student who he met on the first day. He’s forgotten his name, but his spiky white hair kinda reminds Tobio of the seagulls that soar over the harbor. He can see them as white specks from his window, which he’s kept closed ever since that night on the roof with Hinata. He’s thinking of Hinata again.

Seagull boy is scribing for another guy whose back is to Atsumu’s, and all Tobio can see is that his head is shaved and his skin is dark. Seagull boy looks up and meets Tobio’s eyes; he grins, and there’s something oddly familiar in how he does it, like he’s just waiting for Tobio to say something. He’s short, too, just like—

“Fine,” he says, and Atsumu mutters _so he is alive._ “Then…how are the other Dolls at KPC doing?” He’s going to have to find _another_ milk vendor at this rate—this weird fluttering feeling refuses to go away. “And…is there an airfield anywhere behind the company building?”

Atsumu’s fingers fly across the keys. “You’re a weird guy,” is all he says when he hands Tobio his letter.

Privately, Tobio thinks that’s a little hypocritical, but he supposes Atsumu isn’t wrong, either.

Next is Tobio’s turn to scribe. He feels his mouth go dry as he rolls a fresh sheet into his typewriter. He’s only done this once, after all, and Hinata had laughed at him. Dumbass.

“I’d like to write to Osamu,” Atsumu says, looking pleased. The two of them must be close.

Tobio types out the date, the greeting.

“As ya know, he owns a restaurant,” Atsumu says. “Started it with an ol’ buddy of ours, and they’re doin’ great.” He grins. “Tell him I’m gonna do better. And that I’ll see him for dinner this Saturday.”

Tobio blinks. “‘Do better?’”

Atsumu sits back in his chair, smile fading. “He thinks that he can be happier as a chef than I’ll be as a top Doll. But I’m gonna win, because nothin’ beats bein’ a Doll.”

Ah. Now _this,_ Tobio knows. He starts typing.

_Dear Osamu,_

_I hope the restaurant is doing well._

He pauses, knits his brows.

Dinner on Saturday?

“You alright there, Tobio-kun?” Atsumu leans forward over the desk to peek.

Tobio shoos him away. “Yeah.” He keeps typing.

_When I become a successful Doll, I hope that you can stand by my side._

_See you for dinner on Saturday._

_Your brother,_

_Atsumu._

Washijo walks up after he finishes and holds out a hand. Tobio gives him the letter and waits with bated breath. Washijo’s eyes scan the page once, twice.

Is it okay? Did Tobio botch it? They’re nearing the end of the course, now. What if Tobio doesn’t pass? Oh, that’d just be great, freaking Hinata would never let him hear the end of it—

Washijo hands the letter to Atsumu and walks away without a word. Atsumu reads it before making a scrunched-up face, like he’s eaten something sour.

“What’s wrong?” Tobio asks, a little panicked. “Is it too formal? Too awkward?”

Atsumu shakes his head and waves him aside. He puts the paper back down on the table. “Nah, it’s good. You even got the—that second to last line. It’s good.”

Second to last line— _I hope that you can stand by my side._ “Was that inaccurate?” He had tried to do what Hinata had said, with the—the understanding feelings thing. Atsumu hadn’t said it, but Osamu had brought him lunch. The two of them cared about each other. _By my side._

And besides, when Hinata had said the same words that Atsumu had said earlier, the _I’m going to win_ that echoes in Tobio’s head at night for some reason (Hinata’s voice is very annoying), Tobio had felt…

Well, Atsumu probably feels the same. _By my side._

It’s a nice feeling, to be wanted. Even if just to compete with them—another person wants you around.

It’s nice.

“Ugh, good thing this is a letter,” Atsumu says. “He’d never let me hear the end of it, if I said this out loud.”

Tobio shrugs. Guess the letter was fine after all.

***

He doesn’t have quite the same success with his own letter.

“This is…an interesting letter, Kageyama,” says Ukai, hand to his chin. “More of a report than anything else.”

Tobio winces. “Uh, yes sir. I wasn’t sure what to say.”

“Well, that’s alright,” he says with a chuckle. “You’re still training. When you’re with clients you won’t be the one dictating anyway.” He pockets the letter and smiles at Tobio. “Thank you. For writing to me. I appreciate it.”

Tobio clears his throat, shuffles his feet. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean—yes, sir. Of course”

Ukai looks like he wants to correct him on the _sir_ again, but thinks better of it. “I look forward to hearing more of your progress tomorrow.” He starts reading the stack of papers on his desk, a clear dismissal. Tobio inclines his head, then turns to leave.

“We have an airfield.”

He turns back. “Sorry?”

“Your question.” Ukai says, and he looks up from his papers. His gaze is carefully neutral. “Just…if you ever wanted to go for a quick run around the bay or something.”

“Ah,” Tobio says. “I see.” He looks at the floor.

“We only have a small passenger plane, for deliveries to some of the farther villages,” Ukai continues. “Hinata’s usually the one who goes, but Nishinoya has a pilot certification too.”

“Ah,” Tobio repeats, and he really, really would like to leave now. Ukai’s eyes are edging towards something that looks like pity, or perhaps sympathy, and Tobio is beginning to feel a little claustrophobic. “Thank you,” he manages, and he’s just about to open the door when Ukai speaks again, this time with something like…amusement, in his voice. Maybe.

“The other Dolls are doing well. Hinata should be back by the end of the week.”

“Oh,” Tobio says. He glances over his shoulder, confused. “That’s…cool?” Why would Ukai mention Hinata?

Ukai has another indecipherable expression on his face. He shakes his head and waves Tobio away. “Alright, I’ll stop teasing you. You’re dismissed.”

Tobio leaves, ears burning. Right before the door clangs shut, he hears Ukai laugh, softly. Fondly.

Well, that was weird.

***

Tobio, along with Atsumu, Seagull boy, and Guy with Shaved Head (he later learns their names are Hoshiumi Kourai and Aran Ojiro), all pass the course the following month. Washijo pins a golden pin to Tobio’s chest and speaks of pride, of the power of words, and of connecting.

His eyes, so stern over the past few weeks, soften just a smidge when he looks at all of them. “Do your best work,” he says to them, and that is that. 

“See ya around, Tobio-kun,” Atsumu says as they part ways on the bridge just outside the warehouse. He smiles. “Write lotsa good letters, won’tcha?”

***

_MISSION REPORT by: Kageyama Tobio_

_SQUADRON: LITTLE FALCONS_

_SERIAL NUMBER: 12221996_

_DATE: September 18 th, XXXX_

_Flight patterns C and B. Enemies lines on northern front shifted three kilometers east. Further difficulties with other flight members regarding fuel reserves._

_Requesting squadron transfer._

_[Transcript attached]._

_DENIED by Maj. Oikawa Tooru_

_*_

_TRANSCRIPT_

_[UNPUBLISHED, FOR BRANCH RECORDS ONLY]_

_FALCON 3: I think we should head back now._

_FALCON 12: We still have enough for at least two hours. We can keep going._

_FALCON 6: Last time you wanted to head back, now you want to keep going. Make up your damn mind._

_FALCON 12: It’s different this time. We still have fuel, and this area is under our jurisdiction. What is the issue._

_FALCON 3: Well, it’s just, we’ve been flying all night, Kageyama, and—_

_FALCON 12: Are you saying you’re no longer able to perform your duties? Head back then, or you’ll only get in my way._

_FALCON 6: Hey! Lay off, asshole. This isn’t even a squadron anymore, it’s a dictatorship._

_FALCON 3: I think I’m going back._

_FALCON 6: I’m going with you. Screw this._

_FALCON 12: Fine. I’ll keep going alone. You two return to base._

***

Tobio wakes up the morning after his graduation ceremony to banging on his door.

“Fuck,” he says. He opens his eyes with a groan, sees way-too-pale sunlight streaming in through the window, and wonders briefly if he should just ignore whoever’s dumb enough to wake him up at ass-o-clock in the morning.

As soon as the thought forms, the banging intensifies, and Hinata fucking Shouyou says, voice way too chipper for the fucking hour, “I know you’re in there, Kageyama. Open up!”

Tobio kicks off his scratchy blanket and storms over to the door, flinging it open. “What.” His voice sounds like death. He feels like death.

Hinata is standing there, right hand still mid-knock, still as short as ever. He’s wearing an aviator’s helmet with the googles pushed up over his forehead and the same combat boots he was wearing the first day they met. His red earring gleams, a ring of light among his curls. Speaking of which: his hair sticks up in more directions than Tobio can count.

But there’s something wrong, and it takes Tobio a second to figure it out: he’s wearing a fucking _leather jacket_ what the fuck. It’s a dark brown so dark it’s almost black, and it looks, it looks—

“Show me,” Hinata says, and elbows past Tobio into the room. Tobio is still staring at his leather jacket, which hangs over his shoulders. His arms aren’t in the sleeves, and the jacket hangs over his broad shoulders. Are they actually that broad or is it just the jacket? He can’t tell.

He thinks his brain has stopped working. It’s so early.

And then it hits him that Hinata is _in his room_ , just walked in as if he owned the place. “Oi! Get out.”

Hinata pays him no attention, instead stands in the center of Tobio’s bare-bones room—oh, Tobio realizes, his room probably looks really depressing—with his hands on his hips. Tobio takes a step forward, arms out to—he doesn’t know, probably squeeze his head until it pops off his leather-clad shoulders—when Hinata says, “Ah, there it is!”

He walks out of hair-grabbing range towards Tobio’s desk, where the photo of him and Miwa and Kazuyo-san sits in front of the window. He pauses at the photo and Tobio feels a spasm of panic—what would he even say, if Hinata asked—?

But then Hinata turns around, something small and shiny in his hands, and Tobio is distracted by the way the early morning light frames his hair. It was gold last time, he thinks. Now it’s…more washed out. Like the edge of dawn, instead of its center. Like fine-spun thread.

“Congratulations!” Hinata says, and Tobio realizes he’s holding his new Doll pin—a metal shape of a bird mid-flight, wings curved in a graceful arc upwards. “Now you’re at the starting line.”

Whatever Tobio had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that. “What time is it,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And why are you here.”

Hinata doesn’t seem phased by the murder in Tobio’s voice. “It’s almost five! And I just got in and I heard from Yacchan that you got your certification, so I thought I’d stop by!”

There are…several things to consider. Just got in? Others who weren’t Ukai knew about him passing the Doll course? And the most offending—five am.

Tobio tries to take a deep breath. It whistles in his nose, like a kettle about to explode. “Why the hell are you here so early?” _And why’d you come here?_ he doesn’t ask. Certainly it wasn’t because he just wanted to…say hello.

“I flew,” Hinata says, pointing to the goggles still pushing his hair into the shape of a bird’s nest. “Weren’t you listening? I just got in.”

“Oh,” Tobio says, feeling a little stupid. He supposes that makes sense. “Wait, but the sun’s not up yet. Did you fly in the fucking dark?”

Hinata holds the pin up to the light, one eye closed and his tongue poking out as if he doesn’t have his own pinned to the soft cotton of his shirt. “Yeah?” he says. “I know the land well enough, plus the city’s always well-lit at night. You can see the glow from the mountains.”

Tobio bites his retort back. It’s not like you _can’t_ fly at night—hell, most of his missions were done under the cover of darkness. It just…requires experience. Which Hinata must have, if he’s here now. At five am.

He grunts and kicks the door behind him open. “Okay, well,” he says. “I’m going back to sleep, so. Leave.”

“Boo, you’re no fun,” Hinata says, and Tobio wants to scream, because there’s a weird feeling in his chest when he thinks about Hinata coming straight to Tobio’s room after a long job away—it’s been a few weeks since that morning in the office—and he’s not sure if Hinata, with his weird familiarity and bird nest sunrise hair and his _stupid_ leather jacket, is even real right now.

Hinata sees the expression on his face and says, “Sheesh, alright, I’m going!”

Tobio steps aside from the doorway to let him pass, but then Hinata stops in front of him, grinning from ear to ear.

“Really, though,” he says, and Tobio leans away. He’s so…close. His eyelashes are the same shade as his ridiculous hair.

“What,” Tobio says, trying to sound angry. It doesn’t quite work. Hinata smells faintly of sweat and more strongly of wind and sky—he smells good—but then Hinata moves closer all thoughts of smell go out the window.

Hinata gets up on his tiptoes and pins the Doll emblem to the collar of Tobio’s nightshirt, knuckles warm and barely-there against Tobio’s collarbone. Tobio can feel his breath brush against the base of his neck, a physical thing.

Tobio’s breath catches in his throat; thankfully, Hinata doesn’t seem to notice. He lowers himself back down and leans back, and suddenly it’s like there’s too much air between them now, in the room, in the hallway. Tobio’s head swims with the altitude change.

“Congratulations,” Hinata says again. “Just wanted to say that.” He smiles at Tobio like a promise, like one he intends to keep. His voice is soft, sure. “Now let’s see who can make it to the top first.” Then he laughs, bright and airy, before he skips out the door. “Good morning!”

Tobio nods a moment too late, heart racing, as the door closes shut behind him.

***

He gets very little sleep after Hinata leaves, drifting in and out of consciousness, shadows behind his eyelids and laughter echoing in his ears.

By the time he wakes up two hours later, he has not gotten any real sleep. He stumbles through the morning wondering if Hinata appearing in his room at the ass-crack of dawn was just a very vivid hallucination when something pointy pokes his chest.

And there it is, the pin that Hinata had fastened to his shirt. Tobio instinctively goes to touch it, the metal warm under his fingertips. As if the warmth that he had felt from Hinata’s hands had been trapped within, kept there for later.

Which is dumb, he realizes a second later. The warmth is from his own body, not Hinata’s.

He finds his third milk seller in the two months since he’s arrived, a kindly older woman a few blocks from the base of the hill where KPC is located. Can never be too careful.

***

“Kageyama, you have a request!” Yamaguchi calls.

Tobio, who had just walked into the Doll’s office, nearly walks back out in the same moment. Nerves bloom in his stomach. That was fast.

Two of the four desks are filled this morning; unsurprisingly, Hinata is the only one absent. Tobio walks over to Yamaguchi. He’s typing something, focused, but he looks up when Kageyama approaches and gives an easy smile. “They should be here in a few minutes—just make sure you’re all set up!”

Minutes. They’ll be here in a few minutes. “I, uh. Yeah,” Tobio says eloquently. “Thank you.” It sounds like a question. Yamaguchi only nods, encouraging, before turning back to his typewriter.

Tobio looks around—Yachi’s already with a client, a guy wearing a yellow headband around his forehead, talking very quietly.

When she spots him looking over, she shoots him a thumbs up, mouths _you can do it._ He gives a little wave back.

Well, guess he’ll just…get ready, then.

He heads over to the corner desk where he and Hinata had sat before. The desks aren’t assigned as far as he knows, but if Hinata had no problem barging into Tobio’s space uninvited, then Tobio would have no qualms about the reverse.

It’s not because he feels calmer when he remembers that afternoon. It’s really not. He just…likes this spot, is all.

He checks that his rollers are greased, his keys responsive, his typing paper neatly stacked. And then, after the most nerve-racking ten minutes of his life, almost as bad as the moments before his first solo mission, a man with salt and pepper colored hair walks in.

Well, more like parades in. His hair sticks straight up like an owl’s, and his movements have big, sweeping gestures in them. He kinda reminds Tobio of Hinata—way too overexcited. He calls Yamaguchi and Yachi by their first names with a voice that is loud and brassy. Tobio hears their chorused hellos back—he must be a regular here?

Belatedly, he stands, just as the man walks over.

The words, Tobio thinks. Remember the words.

His bow is awkward (good thing Hinata isn’t here to see it, he’d never hear the end of it), but he says the words as he’s rehearsed them.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he manages. “I will travel anywhere to meet your request. Auto-Memory Doll.” He looks up, sees that the man’s arms are crossed. He is smiling. “Kageyama Tobio, at your service.”

When he finishes, the man laughs, though not unkindly, hands on his hips. “Wow, you’re the real deal!”

Tobio feels a little surge of pride, glances down at the pin on his lapel. _Congratulations_ Hinata had said. He thumbs his scar. “Thank you.”

They sit.

“My name’s Bokuto Kotaro,” the man says. “I usually work with Hinata, but he said that there was a new guy and I wanted to check you out!”

“Ah,” Tobio says. He’s thrown off again, that Hinata would mention him to a stranger. “That’s…good. How may I help you today?”

Bokuto sits forward and puts his hand on his chin, heaving a sigh. “Well, you see, Kageyama,” he says, lip twisting in thought. “I’m going to propose tonight.”

Everything goes silent.

Tobio sees Bokuto’s mouth moving, knows he’s probably saying something really important, but.

A proposal? _This_ is his first case? A _proposal._ Is Hinata playing a trick on him? He…he wouldn’t do that. Right?

Tobio tries not to pass out.

Bokuto is still talking, hands waving around like he’s trying to swat something. Tobio follows the path of his hands, like birds in the morning light, when a glint catches his eye.

He looks down—it’s his pin, still warm. Still shining from this morning, when Hinata had slipped his fingers against his collarbone. Said _congratulations_. Smiled.

No, Hinata wouldn’t play a cruel joke on him. Tobio know this, somehow.

“I’m really sorry,” he says. He takes a deep breath, sits up straighter in his chair. “Do you mind repeating what you just said? All of it, please.”

Bokuto freezes mid-word, almost comical. After a moment in which Tobio considers a career change (but no, he reminds himself, _top of the world_ ), Bokuto roars with laughter.

“A little nervous, aren’t ya?” he says, reaching over to pat Tobio on the shoulder. Tobio tries hard not to flinch. “Well, no worries, Mr. New Doll! Akaashi likes things simple and to the point, so I want my letter to be the same.”

Okay. Simple. Tobio can do simple.

He puts his hands on the keys. Looks up.

“Please begin,” he says.

***

Bokuto has been courting Akaashi for three years now, but he’s loved him for six. They met at Bokuto’s job as a dock worker before the war—Akaashi had rescued him from falling off a gangplank while Bokuto had been trying to feed seagulls and move a crate at the same time, and it had been love at first sight for both of them. Unfortunately, Akaashi had been the only one to realize his feelings, and for the next three years going into the war, they remained friends but never anything more.

Luckily, they never saw the fighting on the front lines. But Bokuto always knew that no matter where he went, Akaashi would have his back. Once, when they were briefly separated into different squadrons for basic combat training, Bokuto had turned to his right to say something, only to remember that Akaashi wasn’t there.

So that was when he knew. He promised Akaashi that as soon as the war was over, he would marry him.

Bringing them to the present!

Akaashi is very attractive. He tends to overthink a lot of dumb things, but that’s one of the reasons why Bokuto loves him so much, because Bokuto doesn’t think much about stuff he should probably worry about more (well, at least that’s what Akaashi says). Whenever Bokuto feels down, which only happens whenever something _horrible_ happens, like that time he hurt his back trying to do a flip in their little shared apartment near the bay and accidentally broke a vase, Akaashi is there to help him get back on his feet.

“Akaashi also has the _prettiest_ eyes, Kageyama,” Bokuto continues, his own eyes shining. “They’re always so serious but I can always tell when he’s laughing. Like I can just tell, you know? Oh, and—"

Tobio holds up a hand, tries to keep everything sorted and remembered. It’s like trying to hold water in his hands. “Okay, I’m going to start with what you’ve given me,” he manages. “If you want to add more later, we can.”

Bokuto gives him an enthusiastic thumbs up, far too cheery for someone who was essentially told to stop talking about their beloved. Would Hinata would know what to do, in this situation?

“Of course!” Bokuto says. “Have at it.”

Tobio breathes. Tries to recall the keywords. Love at first sight; six years since meeting, three years courting; can always count on…?

_Dear Akaashi—_ he starts typing.

_When we first met all those years ago, I hadn’t realized who we would become. I remember that day so clearly, every detail like_

A moment later, he stops. It’s wrong, somehow. From what he’s gathered, Bokuto really loves this man, has feelings for him that run soul-deep, but this couldn’t be how he’d express them. It’s too…flowery. Right?

The bad milk voice in his head, the one that sounds suspiciously like Hinata, pokes at the paper. _To be a good Doll, you have to understand the human soul._

Tobio bites his lip. Dumbass Hinata, interrupting him even when he isn’t here. Tobio is _trying_ , dammit.

Besides, how does one find the human soul, much less understand it? Answer _that_ , Hinata.

 _Oh but Akaashi’s_ eyes, _Kageyama_ , _I can always tell when they’re laughing—_

_I can just tell, you know?_

Tobio’s head jerks up; Bokuto is staring just past Tobio, eyes unfocused, strangely quiet. He leans forward in his chair, still backwards. His head is pillowed on his crossed arms, and.

And he is smiling, close-mouthed, gentle. Small, and somehow not small at all.

Ah.

Tobio looks back down at the paper.

Simple, Bokuto had said.

Tobio takes the sheet out and crumples it, tosses it into the waste bin beside him. At the sound, Bokuto lifts his head, the quiet gone so fast it seems more of a stutter than a stop in the flow of his exuberance. “Do you have it?” he asks, eyes shining again.

Tobio types and does not answer. Considers. Types a little more.

When he finishes, he takes it out of the paper and hands it to Bokuto, who receives it with eager hands.

The next few seconds seem to stretch out to eternity. Tobio doesn’t breathe.

Finally, Bokuto looks up. He smiles, joyful.

“Perfect.”

***

_Dear Akaashi Keiji,_

_You always catch me when I fall. Now it’s my turn._

_Will you marry me?_

_Love always,_

_Bokuto Kotaro_

***

Tobio runs into Hinata in the main hall on the way back from breakfast (some milk and a cheese sandwich, as always).

“So,” Hinata begins as Tobio downs the rest of his milk. “I heard from Bokuto-san the other day that there’s gonna be a wedding soon.”

Tobio grunts, not really processing. Today’s bottle was especially good—he’ll stick with this seller—a strange young man with wide eyes and choppy brown hair, and then he nearly chokes.

“What?” he says, just as they reach the staircase. Sugawara and Tanaka stand at the landing, and as he and Hinata approach, they look up, waving.

“Check these out,” Tanaka says, before Hinata can reply. He opens his bag to reveal about fifty or so envelopes, all in the same crème-colored paper, wax-sealed with Karasuno’s signature embossing.

“It’s all thanks to you, Kageyama,” Suga says. “Bokuto came by earlier, wanted us to relay his thanks.”

Tobio…doesn’t know what to say. He looks at Hinata for—for… help, maybe? But Hinata’s just grinning wide at him, hands folded behind his back.

Tanaka slaps Tobio’s back. “You should be proud!”

“I was just telling him on our way over,” Hinata says to Suga. He slings an arm around Tobio’s shoulders and the bad-milk feeling comes back again. “And Bokuto-san says we’re all invited!”

“We’d better be,” Suga snorts, “‘cause it looks like they invited the whole neighborhood. We have to deliver all those invitations.”

Tanaka closes his messenger bag and pats it with an air of satisfaction. “Leave it to me and Noya-san!” he says, jerking a thumb to his chest. “The fastest delivery service in the whole city thanks to us.”

“You’d better get going if you want us to keep that title,” Suga says, and Tanaka grins. He salutes Suga, then claps Tobio and Hinata on the shoulders.

“Keep up the good work, you two,” he says. “As your superior here at KPC, I couldn’t be prouder.”

He dashes towards the mail room.

“Is he actually…?” Tobio asks as they watch him skip away. Sure, Tanaka-san is someone to look up to, but Tobio wasn’t under the impression that there was really a hierarchy.

“Yes!” Hinata says, just as Suga says, “Eh.”

They catch each other’s eye and burst out into laughter. Even Tobio feels himself crack a little smile.

“Well, I’d better get going. Thanks to you,” Suga says to Tobio, “we’re gonna be busy with acceptances and RSVPs for weeks.”

“Yeah, thanks a lot,” Tsukishima says from behind them as he passes by, but there’s no heat to it. Suga grins at them one last time before following Tsukishima to the accounting offices behind the stairwell.

“See?” Hinata says, skipping ahead up the first few steps. Tobio frowns and quickly follows. He doesn’t like seeing Hinata get too far ahead of him. “My teaching worked!”

“I went to a proper training camp too, dumbass.” But he doesn’t deny it.

“Not that you didn’t do a great job!” Hinata says. “I mean, obviously. You did.”

He hears a but.

“But?” he sighs.

Hinata stops at the landing, shrugs as he swings around one of the banisters. “I dunno. You haven’t met Akaashi-san, but the way he looks at Bokuto-san…it’s really…” He lets go of the railing, puts his hands behind his head as he keeps walking. “Anyway, your letter made it happen.” He whips his head around and points a finger at Tobio. “But don’t let it get to your head! I’m still winning, since I already’d written like fifteen letters by the time you graduated.”

Tobio feels the familiar fire rising his veins. “I won’t lose to you,” he says, glaring. They stop just outside the doors, but neither of them enter. “I will never lose to you.”

Hinata only smiles, sharp enough to cut, yet still…warm, somehow. Familiar. “I’m counting on it.”

Hinata reaches for the door handle just as Tobio does; their hands brush. Hinata jerks away with an _eep_ , as if Tobio had a disease or something.

“What?” Tobio says, frowning down at him. “Do I have something gross on my hand or something?” He examines his hand, sees his scar, the calluses that have formed from weeks at the typewriter. A blue ink stain from yesterday on his thumb, still fading. But nothing weird.

He gives Hinata an unimpressed look. What the hell was wrong with him today?

“Nothing!” Hinata says. His cheeks are red. Is it warm in here? “Nope, just…I’ll get it.”

Still, no one moves. It’s weird—Hinata’s just…staring at him, eyes wide. Is this normal for him? They haven’t known each other for very long, but Tobio had thought he was getting better at reading him. Like the other night, he’d heard a rapping noise on his window, and lo and behold it had been Hinata, inviting him outside to stargaze, or something.

He hadn’t been doing anything else, so he’d accepted. Hinata had talked about everything and nothing—a new meatbun vendor by the docks, how there’d be more love letter requests coming soon because fall was a more, quote, “lovey dovey” season. Tobio had watched the glowing veins of the city while he talked, the clouds making their way over the moonlit sea, and listened.

It had been strange, but…nice. Hinata is nice.

Tobio feels warm too, all of the sudden. What the fuck?

The door to the Dolls’ office opens; it’s Yamaguchi. He looks between the two of them.

“Are you guys…?”

“Sorry, Yamaguchi!” Hinata says. He looks away, quickly. Tobio feels heat rush to his face. “You go first.”

They scooch, and Yamaguchi passes them. He grins sheepishly at Tobio; it’s taken a few weeks, but Tobio thinks he’s warmed up to him. Maybe. He likes Yamaguchi, so he hopes so.

Hinata goes in first, greets everyone as usual. Tobio follows, tries to shake off…whatever just happened. Weird, stupid Hinata.

Yachi stands from her seat to talk to them, or really just to Hinata and Tobio just kinda stands there. He looks around; the chair where Bokuto had sat just a few days ago is back to being neatly tucked under the desk, its back to the door the way it’s supposed to be.

 _The way he looks at Bokuto-san…_ Hinata had said.

Perhaps Akaashi looked the same way Bokuto-san had looked, Tobio thinks, just as Hinata’s laugh rings through the office, high and swooping. Like he could see something hidden beyond where others could see, something just for him.

***

_MISSION REPORT by: Kageyama Tobio_

_SQUADRON: LITTLE FALCONS_

_SERIAL NUMBER: 12221996_

_Date: September 30 th, XXXX_

_Flight pattern C. Medical supplies delivered to local town. Enemies lines on northern front have retreated six kilometers._

_Once again requesting squadron transfer [see previous transcripts]._

_APPROVED by Maj. Oikawa Tooru._

***

The day passes uneventfully. Tobio shadows Yachi this time around.

Yachi is very considerate, always patient with her clients. She asks questions at all the right moments and always seems to understand what the client is trying to say. After watching her write a letter for a near-silent man with white hair twice her size (hell, nearly twice _Tobio_ ’s size), he can’t help but feel sort of awed by her. Beneath the shyness and blustering, Yachi is almost scary in her ability to…just talk to people.

All throughout the session, he hears Hinata’s voice from across the room as he talks to another client, which. He grunts in irritation as Hinata laughs again, high and loud. _Some_ people are trying to work.

The day ends, and when the last person leaves, everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

Tobio stands to move his chair back to the common area; early afternoon sunlight slats through the windows. He hears a groan; Hinata is walking around the desks with his hands stretched over his head.

“Good work today!” Yachi says, and Yamaguchi stands as well, the three of them meeting in the middle of the room. Tobio lifts the chair over his head to avoid bumping into them.

“Should we grab dinner?” Yamaguchi asks. “Tsukki wanted to try that new restaurant down by the museum district.”

“Ahh, that sounds good!” Yachi says. “Hinata, are you coming?”

“Of course!” Hinata says. Tobio puts the chair on the ground, careful not to make too much noise. “You know I could always eat.”

Tobio scoots the chair back under the table. What should _he_ eat for dinner? He could go a little further than the bookstore just at the edge of the neighborhood today. He’s getting better at navigating the streets. Kind of.

It’s quiet, which is weird. Did they leave?

He turns—all three of them are staring at him.

“What?” he says. Is there something on his face?

“Kageyama, are you coming or not?” Hinata asks, voice annoyed.

“Coming…?”

“To dinner!” Yachi says. Yamaguchi nods.

“Oh,” Tobio says. “Um…” There’s no time to think. “Yes?”

“Great!” Hinata says, and that’s that. He turns to the other two. “Meet in front of the canal bridge at eight?”

The two of them give their assent, and Hinata walks over to where Tobio is still standing as they leave.

“I’m excited!” he says with a grin, and Tobio feels lightheaded; he’s going to _dinner_. With other people. “Daichi-san always treats us to a meal once a month. Company perk.”

Dinner, Tobio thinks again. When was the last time he ate with other people?

But Hinata’s not finished yet. “Since we both live here,” he says. Tobio blinks at him “Wanna kill some time?”

***

He follows Hinata up a small trail on the hill behind the house, the slope steep but not impossible.

“This is a lot easier when you don’t have to carry a bunch of mail,” Hinata informs him halfway up.

“Oh,” Tobio says, not really knowing what he’s doing here, with Hinata, climbing a hill. Killing time, he’d said—but doing what?

He remembers Ukai’s words. Ah, okay. “Are we going to the airfield?”

Hinata gasps so dramatically that Tobio nearly falls off the damn mountain.

“What?” Tobio hisses, steadying himself. “What the hell—?”

“How do you know about the airfield?” Hinata whirls around to stare at Tobio, eyes wide.

“Ukai-san told me,” Tobio says, annoyed. “Duh?” Hinata is an idiot.

With a _hmph_ , he turns around and keeps climbing. “Well, how was I supposed to know that? And it’s supposed to be a secret, you know.”

Tobio’s pretty sure it’s not, especially given that the fact that KPC is a postal delivery company, but he lets it slide. He supposes if it’s this difficult to reach, it could be kept a secret.

“Whatever,” he grumbles. They’re almost near the top now, and Tobio can see the peaks of the mountains that cradle the town below. “Why the hell are we going to the airfield anyway?” He’s in no mood to watch Hinata try to teach him how to pilot a tiny mail carrier.

They crest the hill, and the evening breeze hits Tobio square in the face, cool and free of the sea. “I want to see you fly,” Hinata says.

The airfield is small—just a little strip of dirt running horizontal to where they stand, and a makeshift shed near its end to their left.

Tobio swallows. “Why,” he repeats. He does not look at Hinata, but he knows Hinata is looking at him.

“Because!” Hinata puts his hands behind his back and twirls around, something sly in the set of his mouth. “Tanaka-san said you knew how to fly, and I wanted to see who was better.”

“I’m better,” Tobio says, automatic. His hand is a fist; he traces the familiar curve, his half-moon miracle scar. How long has it been?

Hinata makes a sound of outrage, all teasing gone. “Hey, you don’t know that—”

“I do,” Tobio says, finally looking at him. There is no pride in his voice. He is simply state the truth. “I am a better pilot than you.”

Hinata gapes at him for a moment more before something in his eyes turns hard, unyielding. A fire different from the one Tobio has seen from him so far.

Or maybe that’s just the light from setting sun in his face, across the field, as it slips further down the violet sky. “Oh yeah?” he says, voice low and—oh, he’s angry. “Prove it.”

And then he sets off in a march towards the shed, kicking up dirt and rocks as he goes. Muttering snatches that Tobio can’t catch, but he’s sure they’re not flattering.

Tobio considers, in that moment, simply leaving. It’d certainly be easier—he has nothing to prove. He’s not over-confident in his abilities as a pilot—he’s simply better than most people he’s met, because at one point he had been the best.

But, no. Because that was before he ended up in a hospital alone and miraculously alive, before his radio crackled silent with no one on the other end. Before—

“Are you coming or not?” Hinata calls, already ahead as he walks down the dirt runway.

Perhaps Hinata really is better than him, although from what Tobio saw that first evening, he’s probably not.

It’s the _probably_ that makes him step forward.

That and this…feeling, in his stomach. Excitement? It’s been nearly a year, now.

Nearly a year since his feet left the ground.

Hinata reaches the shed before him and emerges from its faded wooden doors just as Tobio is close enough to see inside.

It is small and dusty, just big enough to allow someone to squeeze around the small one-seater within.

Hinata tosses him the keys, then hoists the rope attached to the front of the plane over his shoulder and begins tugging. Tobio looks at the keys in his palm, then at Hinata. “Do you need help?”

Hinata shakes his head, not even sounding strained. “No, just get out of the way.”

So Tobio gets out of the way, eyes wide. Apparently Hinata can move a small plane without much effort. That’s…interesting.

Hinata pulls the plane all the way out of the shed and unties the rope, disappearing back inside for a moment. Tobio looks at the plane, small and unremarkable, its propeller oscillating slowly back and forth in the breeze. KPC’s logo is painted on the body, the background to the familiar black crow nearly the size of Tobio’s head on the cockpit door. 

He watches the propeller turn slowly, creaking. _Does_ he want to do this? Can he, even after all this time?

“Kageyama?”

Tobio blinks. Hinata’s back, the fire he saw earlier slowly draining away, something else Tobio doesn’t recognize taking its place. 

It clicks a moment later. Concern. Hinata is _concerned._

It’s stupid, really. How he can feel the sky beckon, knows that the heavens could be his again; how he wants it, even. But—

“Are you okay?” Hinata asks, and Tobio burns with shame.

“Fine,” he says, curt, and turns away. He puts one foot in front of the other, wills away the heat behind his eyes. The plane sits before him, body gleaming in the sunset, and he runs a hand along the warm metal wings.

When he was really little, Kazuyo-san would let him sit in his lap when he flew. They had a little one-seater his grandfather kept in a shed not unlike Karasuno’s. That plane, too, was small, and sometimes spluttered when it started, but when Kazuyo-san flew it, it was always smooth, effortless. Like the world turned infinite. The horizon would open itself up under his steady hands, and Tobio, small as he was, grew twelve times his size; the ground shrank, and he became a giant. One with metal wings, a rumbling engine, one who could _fly_.

He does not feel like a giant now. Standing in front of the airplane with a crow emblazoned on its side, Hinata waiting behind him—quietly, for once—Tobio feels very, very small.

“It’s okay.”

The keys dig into his palms. He hears footsteps; Hinata is at his side.

“I’m fine, dumbass,” he snaps. He stares at the plane, determined not to look at Hinata.

“I heard…” Hinata starts. He pauses, as if considering something.

What. What did he hear? Tobio doesn’t want to know.

“You’re ex-military,” Hinata finally says. It’s not phrased as a question, and yet.

A moment passes. Tobio stares at the wheels of the plane, sees where the tufts of grass poke up against the black rubber. Hinata starts to look like he’s given up on an answer, but then Tobio says, “Air force.” One of the weeds is a dandelion, still yellow. It glows in the evening sun. “Did recon work.”

Hinata looks at him; Tobio can feel his gaze like a physical thing. “Is that why you asked me if I flew in the dark?”

Tobio blinks. He tears his eyes away from the ground to look at Hinata. He’s squinting at Tobio, nose scrunched up. It’s distracting. “What?”

“The other day, when I woke you up,” Hinata says. “C’mon, don’t you remember?”

“That was forever ago, why would I remember?” Tobio decides not to address the fact that he remembers it, too. “And it was five am, dumbass.”

Hinata snorts. “Yeah, well. You used to fly at night for your missions, right?” He coughs. “Because you can’t do recon during the day, obviously. So why did you ask me if I could?”

Tobio stares back at the windshield, the propeller on the nose, the way the breeze swirls the dusty runway up in little eddies—anything but Hinata. He did it again—that scary sharp intuition about something Tobio doesn’t know how to express. He must’ve just figured it out that fast—Tobio hasn’t told anyone the details about his last job. “I dunno. Just didn’t think you knew how to fly at night.”

“Well, I do!”

“Good for you.”

Another pause. Then—

“Did you learn to fly just for—”

 _“No.”_ The force in his voice surprises even Tobio. “I learned how to fly way before the war was even a thing.”

And there it is: it had only lasted three, almost four years, and yet. And yet it still had split the nation in half along some invisible line: before and after. _What were you before?_ Tobio wants to ask every person he’s met. _Who were you before the world went to shit?_

Because the war isn’t over, not really: small crowd of candles still watch the notice boards in town squares; people still wait at train stations more out of habit than hope. He wondered about _before_ when he woke up and saw Takeda smiling at him, he wonders it every time a customer walks in asking for words he must, somehow, give them.

He wonders it now, looking at Hinata.

Who was Hinata, before?

Perhaps more pressing, more important: who is he now?

“I wasn’t a pilot before the war,” Hinata says, and Tobio’s brain screeches to a halt, a self-destructive train wreck frozen mid-crash. “I told you, right? I went to flight school. So I learned how to fly because of the war.”

The sun slips further down the horizon. The shadows turn blue and full in the hollow of Hinata’s throat. It flickers like firelight when he turns to look Tobio fully, and his smile feels grounding, somehow—barely there, but steady. “But,” he says, “I still love it.”

Tobio feels strange, watching Hinata Shouyou smile at him like that, but he doesn’t know why.

(Later that night, just before he drifts off to sleep, he will realize it’s because he’s never associated the feeling of _safe_ with the feeling of being grounded. To him, freedom has always come from the air, not the earth. The earth is a place to fall towards, but never to catch).

Before he has time to consider it all, before he can ask him _how,_ Hinata says, “So I’ll just show you!”

“Show me what,” Tobio says.

His smile grows; the sun disappears below the mountains, and the sky turns the exact shade of his bright, stupid hair.

Where has Tobio seen this before?

“How to fly,” he says, and before Tobio can protest that he already _knows_ how to fly, thank you very much, Hinata is snagging the keys right back out of his hands, pulling open the rusted door of the plane, and slinging himself into the cockpit with practiced ease.

“Oi—” Tobio starts, but Hinata jams the keys into the ignition, and Tobio steps back as the motor roars to life. The plane begins to turn, the propeller picking up speed as Hinata pivots the plane from the shed to face the runway.

“Just like this!” he yells over the sound of the motor. Tobio walks in the grass alongside him, slowly at first, then faster to match pace as the plane picks up speed. Faster, faster—he finds himself running as fast as he can, arms pumping, and Hinata _laughs_ —that dumbass—Tobio yells the word with every bit of air in his lungs as Hinata outpaces him, then keeps going, and going.

 _Dumbass!_ Tobio shouts into the sky, just as Hinata lifts off with a whoop of his own, just like that first evening when Tobio had arrived. And then he’s flying—up in the air without so much as a hiccup, higher and higher.

He flies in long, slow loops, graceful arcs and pinpoint turns that Tobio knows he can do faster, with more elegance, but he’s…

“Not bad,” Tobio says, and doesn’t bother keeping his voice down. It’s not like Hinata can hear him, anyway.

Hinata flies, strangely, like he writes, like he talks: with big, sweeping gestures and explosive energy; a little messy, but somehow true. There is nothing but pure, unbridled joy in the way he skims the tops of the lowest clouds, glides towards the mountains to face the glow of the already-set sun. He makes a loop over the treetops, stirs up the leaves, low, low, low, and Tobio wonders how far he’s gonna go out before he turns back around, towards the dusty runway where Tobio still stands, watching him fly.

Ah. That’s right. He’s flying for _Tobio_ right now, just for the hell of it, just because he can. Because Tobio couldn’t. Can’t.

And he’s jealous, yes, just a bit, but not of Hinata’s skill. Or is it even jealousy that he feels now, in the pit of his stomach, low and humming? He doesn’t know.

Because as he watches Hinata greet the first stars in night sky, the blue-black dome of their home on earth, he realizes for the first time in years:

He’d forgotten what it felt like to grow to meet the sky. How it felt, when he was little, still learning with Kazuyo-san, to be a giant. But now—

Hinata swoops down once more, low enough for Tobio to hear, even over the engine’s roar, his laughter echoing into the evening.

Now?

Tobio, for a moment, feels like perhaps he could meet the sky still.

***

_EXECUTIVE ORDER BY: Maj. Oikawa Tooru_

_SQUADRON: KITAGAWA FIRST_

_Serial Number: 07201994_

_Date: October 9 th, XXXX_

_EFFECTIVE: Immediately_

_Transfer Kageyama Tobio serial number 12221996 to KITAWGAWA FIRST._

_[Note: Squadron KITAGAWA FIRST now under joint command of Maj. Oikawa Tooru and Maj. Iwaizumi Hajime. See Maj. Iwaizumi for transfer details]_

_APPROVED by Maj. Oikawa Tooru_

_APPROVED by Maj. Iwaizumi Hajime_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! <3  
> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/chubsthehamster) and [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/chubsonthemoon).


	3. Wherever You Are, Wherever You Might Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [To the ends of our world.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UaqYeePTmck&list=PLJbWNarT9D8msO9D8p3nvq7Wj9FBQvvkC&index=12&ab_channel=AaronMelgar)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let it be known that I know zilch about how to fly a plane haha

Hinata flies until the last of the light fades, then lands on the opposite end of the field. Tobio watches as he comes to a stop, ridiculous hair windswept and even more unruly than usual, like it looked in the mornings.

“Well?” he says once he hops out of the cockpit. He moves to the back of the plane and Tobio meets him there to push it into the shed, even though he knows Hinata doesn’t need his help.

“Well, what?”

“How was my flying!” Hinata says, and Tobio grunts.

Hinata puts the keys on a little ring on the wall of the shed and closes its doors. He clicks the padlock into place. Then turns to Tobio, hands on his hips, face expectant. “Well?”

“It was…fine,” Tobio says as they walk back down the hill in the dim light (Hinata was right; even though there aren’t any lights in the clearing, the city is just bright enough to illuminate the airfield. Bright enough for a landing). “Your turns suck though. And your landing was shit.”

They arrive at the base of the trail that feeds out into the back lot of the house. Hinata sputters, indignant. “Did you really have to add that last part? You could’ve just left it at ‘it was fine!’ Geeze…”

He keeps muttering about rude critics and it’s not like _Kageyama_ flew anyway, so he can’t even say anything. Stupid Kageyama, _Bakageyama…_

The city lights may illuminate the mountain airfield, but here, under the casted shadows of the house Tobio is beginning to call home, it’s just dark enough to hide a smile.

Then the clock tower strikes eight, and Hinata yelps.

“C’mon, Bakageyama, we’re gonna be late!” he says, and starts running around the building towards the street, where the streetlights cast little pools of gold on the cobblestone.

“Oi, dumbass, don’t get a flying start!” he yells, and makes chase.

He can’t quite seem to catch up—that cheater. Hinata’s hair periodically flashes like a beacon under the gas lights (this part of the neighborhood doesn’t seem to have the electric lights that Tobio has seen farther in town), on and off like a beacon for Tobio to follow. Tobio’s shoes scuff over curbs and uneven sidewalks, evening wind cool on his face. His legs are longer, but Hinata is faster; they weave down the road and through alleyways, dodging disgruntled pedestrians and cars that blare their horns; somewhere midway through another side street sandwiched between a bookstore and a tailor’s, a dog barks, and Tobio realizes right then and there that he has no idea where the hell they are.

He hasn't had this much fun in years.

“You’re so— _slow._ Oh my…god,” Hinata wheezes once they reach the bridge, presumably in the museum district. Tobio keels over and tries not to look as winded as he feels, hands on his knees, and he stares through the slats of the bridge into the dark water below. The gas lamps’ reflections waver like miniature suns in ink.

“You—got a—head—start,” he spits out, and he straightens, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Doesn’t count.”

“There you are!” says a voice, and they look up in unison to see Daichi, Sugawara, and a man Tobio does not recognize walking towards them. The guy Tobio doesn’t know is _big_ , with long hair pulled back into a bun and a goatee.

“Daichi-san! Hello!” Hinata says, and Tobio inclines his head. “I didn’t know you guys were coming to dinner too!”

“Tsukishima said we’d get a discount if we all came, so why not?” Suga says. “Oh, Kageyama, this is Asahi, by the way. I don’t think you two have met.”

“Hello,” Asahi says, voice softer than Tobio was expecting. “Azumane Asahi—I work in the warehouse by the docks with deliveries.”

Ah, so that’s why Tobio hasn’t met him yet. “It’s nice to meet you,” Asahi says, his head a lowered. He looks like he should be taller.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Tobio says, feeling awkward. “I work with the ghostwriters. Kageyama Tobio, Auto-Memory Doll, at your service.”

He gives a little bow, to which Asahi waves his hands, a fluttering little gesture that kind of reminds Tobio of Yachi. “No need to be so formal! I heard about your most recent letter—Bokuto is an old friend of mine. I can’t thank you enough, for what you’ve done for him and Akaashi.”

Tobio raises his head and tries not to stutter. What he’s done? Asahi looks at him, his eyes grateful. “Ah…” Tobio doesn’t know what to say. “Um, yeah. Of course. I’m glad I was able to help the two of them…” he pauses, thinking. “Find each other.”

Asahi nods. “Me too.”

He feels his neck prickling—Hinata is staring at him, eyes wide. “What?” he says.

Hinata stares some more, then shakes his head. “Nothing. Tell you later.”

Introduction out of the way, the five of them walk towards the restaurant. Apparently everyone else is already there, so they could get enough seats. It’s a cozy place, with vines that grow along the wood-brick walls inside, with large windows that overlook the street. There’s much commotion and excited voices as soon as they step foot within, and Tobio’s head swims a little.

Tanaka and fist bumps Hinata; Nishinoya leaps up and plants a kiss on Asahi’s cheek, to which Asahi blushes furiously under the warm lights. Yachi is sitting next to Kiyoko, a pretty woman with glasses who Tobio had met in reception one afternoon. Yamaguchi is seated next to Tsukishima, who looks as bored as ever. They’ve all pulled enough chairs for everyone, and Tobio ends up sandwiched between Hinata and Nishinoya, an arrangement which is…loud, to say the least.

They agree to order potluck-style (or at least, no one objects to Daichi’s suggestion), and Tobio just stares as dishes arrive and are passed around. Elbows are jostled, utensils dropped (Hinata), and apologies given (Yachi).

It’s….warm in here, with this many people.

“Kageyama,” Hinata says, his voice very close to Tobio’s ear. Tobio jumps. “Are you gonna eat your fish or not?” Or at least, that’s what Tobio thinks he said, because his mouth is so stuffed full with food it’s a miracle he can even breathe.

“How you can eat that much and still not grow any taller?” Tsukishima says in disdain. He’s sitting across from Hinata and Tobio, and from what Tobio has seen, has not eaten much himself.

Tobio snatches his bowl away while Hinata’s distracted. “Don’t take my food, idiot,” he mutters, suddenly hungrier than he’s ever been in his life.

He takes a bite; it’s good.

The evening passes quicker than Tobio thought it would, bizarre and full of chattering voices. Nishinoya asks him how Doll work is going, and Daichi congratulates him on a job well done with Bokuto’s proposal letter. This prompts an impromptu toast to KPC’s newest employee, initiated by Tanaka, which makes Tobio want to curl up and die a little, but everyone smiles at him (except for Tsukishima, which Tobio is grateful for) and Tobio feels his face warm with embarrassment. When they go to drink, Hinata accidentally takes a swig from Tobio’s milk and Tobio tells him he can have it, since it’s contaminated with stupid, and Yamaguchi snorts into his pudding.

“Meanie,” Hinata mutters, but he drowns the rest of the glass anyway, cheeks red. Tobio just sighs and grabs Hinata’s drink for a taste—oh? It’s a sweet wine, not too heavy, and it’s pretty good. He doesn’t drink much alcohol, but he supposes if someone as short as Hinata can drink it, then he can too.

He takes tiny sips while dessert is distributed, and slowly the world turns a little brighter, yellow around the edges. Fuzzy and warm.

When everyone’s eaten their fill, bellies full and sleepiness setting in, they all make their way to the front of the restaurant to say their goodbyes. It’s fully dark out now, businesses around them starting to close down for the night, and Tobio’s eyelids are heavy as he mumbles his goodbyes along with everyone else, watching each little group all go their separate ways home.

It’s been a nice day, Tobio thinks. Strange, turbulent, noisy. But nice.

“Let’s go home, shall we?”

He blinks and looks over, surprised. Hinata’s hand falls as he finishes waving goodbye to Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, who are walking Yachi to her apartment. He looks up and smiles at Tobio, sounds and looks just as sleepy as Tobio feels.

Tobio looks at Hinata, remembers how he flew earlier that evening. The little bit of milk that had clung to his lip like a mustache, how he had stared when Tobio laughed at him, indignant and flushed.

Then Hinata yawns, his nose scrunching up. He has a bit of lettuce stuck in his teeth.

“Yeah,” Tobio says, feeling warm all over. He lets himself test the word, tastes it on his tongue with the rice pudding he’d eaten for dessert. “Home.”

***

It occurs to him, not an hour later as he drifts away into sleep, that Hinata had never asked him what he had been staring at, earlier on the bridge.

He turns over on his side to face the wall that he shares with Hinata. He wonders if he’s asleep already. 

“Dumbass,” he says, mouth curling a little, and the word is a sigh as he closes his eyes.

***

Things go smoothly the next few weeks. Tobio has a handful of clients. Apparently, the word is out that there’s a new Doll at KPC, a fact which Hinata complains about everyday from the desk beside Tobio’s (newly instated). They’re small requests, about late shipments and calling notices and a few simple scribing jobs for those who can’t write themselves, but Tobio completes each with as much care as he can.

Summer fades away for good, and fall takes its place. Miwa sends letters every few weeks; when the air turns crisp and cool, Tobio receives one informing him that she finally has enough time off to come and visit.

_Wanna see how my baby brother is making a name for himself. Oh, and I’ll buy lunch, so bring a friend. How about that Hinata kid?_

“You look happy,” Hinata says that morning, smelling like the sky. He must’ve been running deliveries earlier; Tobio feels the familiar twinge of jealousy. He hasn’t gone back to the airfield since that evening this summer.

“My sister’s coming to visit,” he says, and glances at his reflection in one of the glass cabinets that lines the walls. It’s just his face; he doesn’t know how Hinata could tell he was happy. “She wants to get lunch.”

“Nice!” Hinata says, taking his seat. “Maybe you’ll have something to say to her this time.”

Tobio jams his fingers into the crown of his head in retaliation, and Hinata wails.

“Not the diarrhea pressure point, asshole!”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

After a small tussle in which a typewriter narrowly escapes death, Tobio says, wincing, “She wants to meet you.”

Hinata’s shoulders go lax with surprise. “Me?”

Tobio busies himself with his paper; he needs to ask Ennoshita-san where the refills are. “Who else would I be talking to, dumbass? Are your ears still plugged from flying or something?”

But Hinata doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he smiles, slow. Tobio ducks his head, feels his face heat up.

“Of course I’d love to meet her!” he says, eyes wide. “I bet she’s way cooler than you—oh wow, now I can _totally_ ask about embarrassing stories when you were little.” Before Tobio can protest that horrible idea, he keeps going. “You should meet my sister, too! Natsu would love you. Well, after she gets over your scary face.”

Tobio nearly chokes. He glares to cover it up. “Do you want to die?”

“Ah, but this is so great!” Hinata continues, as if Tobio hadn’t said anything. It’s been happening more often recently, usually to Tobio’s snappy threats. Tobio doesn’t know how he feels about it, since he isn’t actually annoyed most of the time. “We should get meat buns at that one place, yanno the one—”

“The one by the docks, yes I _know_ , it’s all you ever talk about. When you eat them in your room I can smell them for _days_ —”

“Well if you wanted some you should’ve come with me with I invited you, Bakageyama.”

“I—when did you ever invite me?” These are all lies. Tobio would’ve remembered if Hinata had invited him for meatbuns.

“You were too busy looking constipated—”

Yachi ends up shushing them, an occurrence that has also been happening more frequently in recent weeks. Tobio knows she’s just shushing Hinata, though, because she never does it when it’s just him.

Tobio goes back to transcribing the latest addresses for Bokuto and Akaashi’s wedding.

_You should meet my sister too!_

He glances at Hinata and finds him already looking.

“I get to meet your sister,” he whisper-yells. He grins at Tobio. He seems…really happy.

Tobio feels his face warm up again.

***

She spots them first, which isn’t surprising, seeing as Tobio is taller than most and Hinata’s flaming hair sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Tobio! Over here!”

Surprisingly, or perhaps unsurprisingly, it’s Hinata who pushes through the crowd, hand tugging Tobio along impatiently. Miwa stands off to the side of the busy street of pedestrians in front of the courtyard’s center fountain, late afternoon sunlight golden. The weather is on the warmer side today. Her hair is still short, Tobio notices, as short as it was since he last saw her nearly a year ago. She’s holding a faded purse slung on one arm and has the other raised in a wave across the crowd.

“Hi,” Tobio says when she folds him into a hug. He has to stoop a little to get fully tucked under her arm, which feels nice. He only notices Hinata’s still holding onto his wrist when he lets go, and he flexes his hand, which feels oddly empty now.

But never mind that—Miwa’s back. She’s back. He takes a little shuddering breath, lets it go into the air behind her.

They step apart and her hands travel down to the crook of his elbows. She sees his faded scar and her eyes go a little wide; Tobio has to force himself not to look away. She doesn’t know just how bad the accident had been, but Tobio’s recovery had been miraculous even for a semi-serious crash. Tobio just hadn’t wanted her to worry, is all.

Then she looks up at his face and frowns.

“Bangs have gotta go,” she says, swiping at his fringe, which he paws away.

“ _That’s_ what you say to me? After all this time?” he grumbles, but he can tell she’s smiling. He is, too.

She turns to Hinata, who’s doing a kind of eager side-shuffle and twisting his hands around themselves like an idiot. It’s what he does when he’s not sure what to do with them, like when he’s around high-profile clients. Not that he’s had as many as Tobio, surely. “You must be Hinata.”

He perks up immediately, hands reaching out for Miwa to shake. “Yes ma’am!” he says.

He’s nervous. Tobio is a little confused and a lot amused, because it’s just Miwa. Yeah, they both have the same kind of expressionless face, but she’s much better at the whole making-friends thing than Tobio is.

“Oh God, no,” Miwa says with a laugh. “I’m not that old. It’s good to finally meet you, Hinata.”

Although, he supposes, he’d be nervous if he had to meet one of Hinata’s family members, _especially_ if the next thing that comes out of that family member’s mouth is—

“Tobio talks a lot about you.” And Miwa grins at Hinata, who looks just as bowled over as Tobio feels. “Which is really something. He doesn’t even write about himself in his letters.”

Tobio would like to die. The look of surprise on Hinata’s face is quickly replaced by one of glee.

“Ne-chan!” he hisses, and takes a step forward. “I do _not_.”

“He totally does,” Miwa says, not even looking at Tobio. Her voice is deadpan as always. Tobio knows she isn’t joking, but he hopes Hinata might think she is.

“Really?” Hinata says, looking a lot less smug now and more…Tobio doesn’t even know. His eyes are wide and staring right at Tobio, his lips slightly parted. Surprised, maybe.

“Let’s eat!” Tobio says to no one in particular, and starts walking away towards the restaurant. This morning he had woken up to Hinata’s stupid face over his bed, hair all tousled from sleep and not wind, and he had felt something like dread pool in his stomach at his smile. _I get to meet your sister,_ he had said, and Tobio had been too dazed, too sleepy, to tell him to leave.

He feels the same now: a little lightheaded, like he’s been left out too long in the sun.

Yes, dread. He’s sure of it.

“Wrong way, Kageyama!” Hinata calls out, and Tobio wishes for death. 

***

Thankfully, Miwa keeps the embarrassing comments to herself during the rest of lunch. Over break one day in between seeing clients, Hinata had somehow gotten Tobio to tell him his favorite food. So, following his lead, they arrive at a little seaside café that Hinata says has the best curry in the whole city.

They find seats on the balcony that extends over the harbor while Hinata stays behind at the counter to chat with the owner—apparently he’s a friend of Kenma’s from their school days, with wide eyes and choppy bangs like Tobio’s. He is also, Tobio realizes with a jolt, the guy who sells Tobio milk every morning.

“Oh,” they both say when they see each other.

“You know Fukunaga-san?” Hinata asks, head whipping between the two of them.

“He’s my best customer,” Fukunaga says. He looks directly at Tobio, unblinking. “Does your stomach feel better now?”

Tobio can never tell when he’s joking. “Uh,” he says. Hinata’s staring at him again. Now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t had weird stomach aches for a few weeks. “Yeah.”

Miwa looks at Tobio. _Friend of yours?_

He shrugs. _Kinda_.

They take their seats outside, on the restaurant’s little balcony with a nice view of the harbor. Hinata’s still talking to Fukunaga. It’s nice out here, the breeze calm and the ocean a calm gray today.

“So, a Doll, huh?” Miwa asks, after they’re seated. She sips her lemonade, then shakes the ice in her cup before looking at him. “Not what I expected when I talked to Takeda.”

“Yes,” Tobio says, unsure where this is going. Her letters hadn’t sounded disproving about his career choice, but perhaps he’d been mistaken…?

But no—Miwa puts down her glass and beams, little lines Tobio hadn’t noticed before scrunching around her eyes. “I’m proud of you,” she says, and Tobio feels a surge of gratitude. She’s all Tobio has left of his family, and sometimes he forgets it goes both ways, too. That he’s all she has left.

“What made you choose to be a Doll, though?” she asks, and that’s when Hinata reappears, stepping through the sliding doors onto the balcony. He smiles when he sees Tobio looking and waves, as if they hadn’t just seen each other three minutes ago.

Miwa turns in her chair. Hinata leaps around the other square tables, jostles a corner on accident and makes the red umbrella totter over the couple sitting below it. He immediately bows to them and Tobio can hear his frantic apologies all the way from here.

“Idiot,” he scoffs. Hinata has too much energy for his own good.

Miwa swivels in her seat to look at Tobio. Blinks once, twice.

“Ah,” she says finally, like she’s arrived at an answer.

“What?” Tobio says, and takes a sip from his own lemonade. He winces—too sour.

“Kageyama-kun, you’re gonna scare customers away with that kind of face!” Hinata says as he takes his seat next to him. Tobio glares daggers at his arms—it’s been warmer recently so he’s not wearing the _jacket_ today but instead a horrible fitted button-down thing that hugs his biceps, which are _not_ toned at all—but there’s no sharpness to it, even Tobio can tell. “Keep looking constipated and I’m gonna be the winner forever.”

“Winner of what?” Miwa asks, chin rested on her folded hands.

“I’m going to write more letters than him,” Tobio explains.

“No, you will not,” Hinata says. He sticks his tongue out. “I’m beating you right now by three clients.”

“You also started way before I did,” Tobio says, and he and Hinata dissolve into another round of bickering, as familiar as breathing at this point. Every morning it’s like this—waking up to a knock on his door, Hinata chattering his ear off while he gets ready for the day, more squabbling about whether or not transcribing addresses should count towards their scores. It’s become so natural that it’s only now, with Miwa watching them, small smile on her face and an eyebrow raised, that he realizes how strange it is.

(Perhaps it’s not strange, he will think, later that night as he falls asleep. Just new.)

“Hinata, why did you become a Doll?” she asks once they’ve quieted down. “I don’t know how you got Tobio to do it—it takes a lot to get him out of his shell.”

“Really?” Hinata says, and Tobio wonders where the hell Miwa got that from. Hinata didn’t _make_ him become a Doll, he chose it all on his own. Although she’s not technically wrong, since Hinata was the one who challenged him.

But Hinata’s talking about something else. “Kageyama, you have a shy side?”

Tobio tries to kick him under the table, even though there really is only curiousity in his voice, like he somehow doesn’t know that Tobio has trouble talking to people. Hinata dodges, though, and Miwa just chuckles as if she knows something Tobio doesn’t. “He does.”

“Um, well!” Hinata continues, fiddling with his straw. “I actually wanted to be a mail carrier for a really long time—the first letter I ever got was from my mom when Natsu was born. The guy who delivered it was a like a legend in my town—he’d seen the entire world when he was younger, so he always had the best stories. He was like a giant.” His eyes get a faraway look that Tobio recognizes, the one he has when they sit on the roof together at night and Hinata points out all the constellations Tobio never got to see back at his old home. “I still remember the letter itself—it was really short, not even a full sentence! Just _she’s here, she’s safe, we love you._ ” He looks up and Tobio realizes he’s been staring when Hinata meets his eyes. “It was…amazing.”

Tobio can’t look away, for some reason. Hinata’s eyes are fixed on his. _Amazing._

“You have a little sister?” Miwa asks.

Hinata turns to her and nods enthusiastically. “Yes! Natsu’s great.” He glances at Tobio with an all-too familiar grin. “Guess that makes both of us the older sibling!”

Miwa puts her hand on her chin and smiles at Hinata. Tobio knows he’s already won her over. How does he _do_ it?

“So you got a letter that your little sister had been born,” Tobio says. How has he never asked Hinata this before? Hinata knew his reasons for becoming a Doll; hell, he _was_ the reason. Or at least, he gave Tobio something to strive for. Not that Tobio would ever tell him that. “And then what?”

Hinata sits back in his chair, flails his arms like he does when he’s trying to tell Tobio a story about one of his clients that day, unnecessary since their desks are literally right next to each other. “And then later I found out you could actually _write_ the words for other people, and I just had to learn!” Miwa hums in appreciation. “It was hard at first, ‘cause I’ve never been the best with grammar and stuff, but it was totally worth it. Sometimes I even get to deliver my own letters!”

Tobio smiles a little to himself in satisfaction. His grammar is probably better than Hinata’s.

As if sensing the thought, Hinata squints at Tobio in suspicion. Hah.

“Well,” Miwa says, and he turns to look at her again. “Seems like whatever letter-writing bug bit you bit Tobio, too. I always thought he was gonna fly planes for the rest of his life, like our grandfather.” She purses her lips, considering. “Although he was a mail carrier too, so I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised.”

Hinata’s head snaps back to Tobio so fast Tobio’s afraid his neck will snap. “Your grandfather was a mail carrier?” he says, eyes practically shining.

“Well, uh,” Tobio says, rubbing the back of his head. Too bright. “He actually was just a pilot at first.”

A nod from Miwa. “Our post office had a small delivery area and was short on staff, so he’d fly the mail to the bigger station over the mountains sometimes.”

Hinata’s eyes grow, if possible, even larger. “A _pilot_ ,” he says. “That’s so cool.”

“Kazuyo-kun was very cool indeed,” Miwa says. She smiles at Tobio. Their shared memories of their grandfather have always been ringed with gold, warm around the edges. “He was very fond of Tobio.”

Tobio blushes. “Oi, Miwa.”

Hinata looks delighted. “Oh? Were you a spoiled little kid, Kageyama?”

“I was _not,_ ” Tobio says. He was a good and honest kid—Miwa will vouch for him.

“Sorry, Hinata,” Miwa says, and Tobio feels a surge of triumph. “Tobio didn’t get into a whole lot of trouble. Kazuyo-kun saw to that.”

He shoots Hinata a smug grin— _see?_ he wants to say.

But Hinata’s smile fades, a little. He looks thoughtful, eyes faraway for a moment, as if remembering something. “You said you learned to fly before…” he says, looking at Tobio. Oh. There’s really only one _before_ that Hinata would know of. “Was it…?”

“He’s the one who taught me,” Tobio says. His throat is suddenly very dry. “How to fly.” _Before the war._

“Gave him his first helmet and everything,” Miwa coos, and she reaches out to pinch Tobio’s cheek; he glares at her, and the heavy feeling passes. She’s usually never this…embarrassing. “Oh, I wish I had to pictures with me, I left them back at the hotel—but Tobio was so cute with his little goggles.”

“Cut it out, Miwa,” Tobio grumbles, batting her hand away, cheek stinging. This is ridiculous.

“Wait,” Hinata says. “How old were you when you first flew an airplane?”

Miwa looks at Tobio; Tobio at her.

“Like, solo?” Miwa asks.

“Twelve,” Tobio says, and Hinata’s jaw unhinges. “It was the best birthday present I’d ever gotten.”

“Don’t look so scared, Hinata,” Miwa says with a laugh. “Kazuyo-san had been taking Tobio up for flights as soon as he was tall enough to look out the windshield.”

“ _Wow,_ ” Hinata whispers, and there’s awe in his voice, like those nights he talks on the roof. It makes Tobio’s face heat up, because this time the awe is for _him_ instead of the stars _,_ like Tobio is amazing or something. He stares at Tobio with that rooftop gaze, and for once Tobio doesn’t have a comeback, or even a retort.

But then Hinata frowns, the face he makes when he’s trying to think of a specific word or how to phrase a difficult request. Tobio’s stomach drops through the wooden planks and into the waves below. “Maaan,” he says. He leans forward and props his elbow up, puts his head in his palm. He looks at Tobio, almost…soft. “I really wish I could see you fly again.”

A moment. Tobio feels Miwa’s eyes on him, her brows furrowed. He is frozen.

Ah. It’s been awhile since he’s seen her, after all, and she would have no reason to believe that he would stop piloting.

“Tobio?” she asks, concern clear in her voice, and he—he can’t. Not Miwa, not—not her. The only one who would truly understand, who was there at the funeral, who would leave his portion from dinner out on the evenings he’d go out and fly, fly, fly, until the sun went down.

He hears wood scraping on wood, the vibrations beneath his feet; he’s standing.

“Refills,” he hears himself say, grabbing their half-empty glasses. He flees.

***

Fukunaga is still at the counter. “Stomachache?” he asks.

Tobio shakes his head. “No, just…” he holds up the empty glasses.

Without a word, he takes them. A few moments later, he arrives, this time with a bottle of milk on a tray. “Free of charge.”

Tobio looks at the condensation beading at the lip of the bottle and feels, wildly and strangely, like he’s about to cry.

“Thank you,” he manages, and takes the drinks. Fukunaga nods.

He walks back towards the sliding doors. Slow. Collected.

An older couple gets to the doors first, the ones whose umbrella Hinata had jostled; he lets them pass with a nod before heading back out into the warm air.

Before he steps around the corner, he takes a breath. Pictures an open sky, a warm hand in his.

Calm down.

For a brief, blinding moment, he is furious with Hinata. He shouldn’t have _said_ anything; it isn’t his freaking business. He should stay out of things he doesn’t understand, because now Tobio has to explain to Miwa, or maybe not, because Miwa has always been there for him, but less with her words and more with her actions. A hand on his back, an extra egg on his rice. He doesn’t want to burden her too.

But a moment later, the anger is gone, as quickly as it came, and Tobio is tired. It’s not Hinata’s fault, he knows. He couldn’t’ have known. It’s almost…flattering, that he wants to see Tobio fly. And…

He needs to apologize to Hinata, he realizes. He invited him to lunch—well, Miwa did, but still—what he just did was rude. Especially after all the kindness Hinata has shown him these past few months, befriending him and showing him the ropes. Letting Tobio listen to him on the nights when the sky looked a little too big outside his window.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Okay. Okay.”

He turns the corner. Hinata and Miwa look up together, concern written plainly on each of their faces, although Miwa is significantly better at hiding hers. He places their drinks in front of them and sits without a word. The moment passes.

“Thanks, Tobio,” Miwa says, voice blessedly normal, and Tobio again feels a rush of gratitude for his sister, her quiet care of him. He nods, and lunch continues as it had before.

Except—Hinata is, as always, incredibly fucking obvious, and keeps sneaking little side glances like he thinks Tobio can’t notice or something. Tobio _always_ notices, the dumbass.

He wonders what Miwa had told him. All she really knows is that he was in an accident, from which he escaped miraculously unscathed, with only a scar on his hands to show for it. But really, there’s no one in the world who knows him as well as Miwa does. She’s probably figured out the extent of the damage now, from his little outburst. That the scar on his hand isn’t the only one.

Tobio wants to…he doesn’t know. Maybe jump into the ocean. Swim away.

Their food arrives, and Tobio is willing to admit that Hinata was right. Their curry is delicious, savory and with white rice, runny egg on top. Hinata, it seems, knows what Tobio likes. The late afternoon sun becomes evening, the sun the same egg-yolk yellow as it sets over the ocean, and they finish eating.

They're standing in the street in front of the restaurant when Miwa turns to them, says, “Well, I have a few errands to run before the stores close."

Tobio blinks in surprise. “Okay?” he says, because while they’ve never had the kind of relationship where they’re joined at the hip and can function perfectly well without the other, it has been _months._ He’s not hurt, just confused. This is unlike Miwa.

“It was really nice meeting you, Shouyou,” Miwa says, pulling Hinata into a quick side hug. She jerks her chin at Tobio and the two of them look at him; Miwa with a small smile, Hinata blushing like an idiot. “Take care of my baby brother, will ya?”

Hinata nods very fast, face almost as red as Tobio’s. Now Tobio is _really_ confused, but Miwa’s already let go and pulls Tobio in for a hug, warm and tight and fleeting.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” she murmurs into his hair. She knows, Tobio thinks. They pull apart, and she tugs on his bangs. “We’re fixing this. You know my hotel address; just come by when you wake up and we can order room service.”

He nods. He’ll probably get lost but he can ask Tanaka or Nishinoya for directions. They’ve offered to show him around several times already; might as well take them up on their offer.

Miwa waves them away. “Go on. Go walk around the city or whatever it is young people do these days.” She turns to walk away.

Tobio pauses, considers. “Wait,” he says.

“Hm?”

He does an awkward little half-trot and gives her a careful approximation of a hug. Just to…just in case, is all. They pull apart, and she thankfully doesn’t look too surprised. “Thanks, Tobio,” she says, and he nods, looks at a spot somewhere on her shoulder. Her voice sounds a little wobbly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He watches her walk away, sees her shake her head. Then he turns to find Hinata already watching him. He pockets his hands.

“Let’s go,” he says, and it sounds like a question.

“Home,” Hinata says, and Tobio’s heard it enough times now that he doesn’t even feel surprised.

They walk through the quiet streets, cobblestone clicking softly beneath their feet. The storefronts are still and dark, the evening bustle from earlier—the trolley cars, engines, traveling crowd—all somewhere lit and warm for the night.

It was warm when the sun was out, but fall’s just turning towards this side of chilly in the evenings, when coats aren’t necessary but nevertheless appreciated. Tobio should’ve brought his jacket. The chill from the sea breeze, pressing gently against their backs as they walk back towards the mansion, doesn’t help either. And yet, as he and Hinata walk side by side through the sleeping city, Tobio doesn’t feel the cold.

They’re walking alongside a bridge on an empty pedestrian street, lined with palm trees that stand like shadowy guardians next to the gas lights, when Hinata speaks. Tobio doesn’t even realize he was waiting for him to say something until he feels the tension bleed out of the air.

“It’s not that you won’t fly,” he says, face forward, into the night air. “It’s that you can’t.”

Tobio’s eyes are focused on the ground, the stone smooth with wear and dirt. It takes a second for Tobio to realize that Hinata’s stopped walking.

So he stops too, a few feet away, just out of arm’s reach. He slips his hands out of his pockets, lets them fall to his sides. Turns to face Hinata, who waits for him to say something.

“Yes,” he says, because it’s the truth. He cannot fly in an airplane anymore without feeling nauseated, without his hands shaking and his vision blurring. He has tried, only once, and he couldn’t make it off the runway.

Kazuyo-san’s greatest gift to him, and he can no longer use it. 

Hinata nods, like Tobio just said something of actual substance, and a lump rises in Tobio’s throat.

Miwa, now Hinata. Always patient, always waiting, always happy to receive what Tobio is able to give. And he can’t give much.

He feels a rush of shame. He doesn’t…

“You’re on fire,” Hinata says, softly. Gently.

It’s almost comical, how slowly Tobio blinks. Again, Hinata has run off on some train of thought he can’t follow. “What?” He lifts his arms, inspects them as if expecting flames to spring to life right then and there and wither away to ash.

(They hadn’t when he fell. The doctor had said it was a miracle both his arms with still intact, with the amount of blood he’d lost).

He shows Hinata his hands, the half-moon scar. “I’m not on fire, dumbass.”

“Yes, you are,” Hinata says.

Tobio stares at him, body very much not aflame. “You don’t make any sense,” he says, feeling a flicker of irritation.

But it fades once he sees Hinata shake his head, quiet like he never is. “You don’t really get it yet, Bakageyama,” he says, something in his voice that makes Tobio want to both run away and crush Hinata to his chest, something like understanding, so goddamn _gentle_ when he says, “You’ll realize it one day.”

Hinata takes a step forward into the light. The space between them thins, distorts. The gold of the lamplight licks flames out of his hair, and his eyes, his _eyes_ , like the warmth that lives in the scar in Tobio’s palms, in the color of the fields Kazuyo-san used to fly over at dusk. Warmth, and sadness.

Tobio almost recoils. He doesn’t want this. This is pity, he’s sure of it, and he doesn’t want it. This is why he doesn’t tell people about his accident, because pity—he doesn’t need it. Doesn’t want it.

What does he want?

It dawns on Tobio that this is always how Hinata looks at him, just…more. More of this intensity. Like sees right through Tobio to his very core, the missing pieces of himself he’d left on the scorched earth, all for Hinata to see.

 _Don’t look_ , he wants to say. Hinata keeps looking.

“You are burning,” he says, his own eyes alight.

Tobio feels cold.

***

Tobio sits on the roof alone, stares out at the sleeping city.

_You are burning._

Some time later, he crawls into bed, stares at the ceiling. This night, too, he does not dream.

***

_MISSION REPORT by: Kindaichi Yutaro_

_SQUADRON: KITAGAWA FIRST_

_SERIAL NUMBER: 06061996_

_DATE: November 3 rd, XXXX_

_New recruit: Kageyama Tobio serial number 12221996. In-fighting on last squadron seemed to arise from communication issues. Maj. Oikawa had him transferred here. He is a skilled pilot, but seems unapproachable and unwilling to discuss mission details during briefings._

_First test flight as a team scheduled for next week._

_APPROVED by Maj. Oikawa Tooru_

***

“What did you tell Hinata?” he asks Miwa the next morning.

She laughs and lets him in her hotel room. “Good morning to you too. And nothing groundbreaking, just that you were in an accident. He didn’t seem too surprised.” Huh. That isn’t as bad as Tobio had thought, after…whatever the hell last night was.

He supposes it wasn’t too hard to figure out; plenty of people had their own fair share of issues after the war.

But setting Hinata aside—he hears the door shut, and a pointed pause. He winces; now how to explain to Miwa. He glances over his shoulder.

“So,” she says, and he braces himself. “You didn’t tell me you stopped piloting.”

To the point, as always.

“I…” What is there to even say? “I didn’t think it relevant,” he mumbles, which is a lie and they both know it.

“Hmm.” She looks at him, unimpressed. Yeah, she knows.

“I’m fine,” he says, because it’s true. He doesn’t have to fly for his job, as much as he sometimes wants to. It comes and goes, the desire to be in the air. Sometimes he has dreams where he’s flying; other times where he’s falling. Or memories. He never knows which it is by the time he wakes up—flying, falling; dream, memory—but he takes what he can.

It’s all he can do.

And besides, he has something new to focus on. He has to beat Hinata.

“Well,” Miwa says, arms crossed. “I don’t believe that everything’s alright, but you know I’m here for you.” Her eyes soften, and she looks off to the side, her mouth doing something funny. Like she’s not sure whether to smile or purse her lips. “Always, okay?”

The lump in his throat is back. “Thanks,” he whispers, and it’s all he can manage.

And that is that. Miwa has never been one to waste words, and Tobio is eternally grateful.

She walks past him; she has a chair all set up and everything. She pats the back of it, and he takes a seat. “I like Hinata,” she says, reaching for a brush.

She’s already got her tools all set up on the vanity. She pulls a blanket from the bed and drapes it around his shoulders. Tobio looks at the floor, the green-blue checkered pattern of the carpet. “He’s…something else.”

At that, she snorts. He frowns; the looks she gives him is a little exasperated, a little fond. “Uh huh. Did he say something weird to you about yesterday?”

He glares harder at the carpet as she starts combing though his hair. “Yeah. Said I was on fire, or something.”

She shrugs. “Weird kid.”

“Yeah,” Tobio says. This morning, he’d seemed normal. Chattered Tobio’s ear off as usual, said that today he was going to write a million letters while Tobio had the morning off. No more talk of fire.

Weird, dumb Hinata.

He glances at his hands again, folded in his lap. Most definitely not on fire.

The familiar _snick_ of Miwa sharpening her scissors interrupts his thoughts. He looks up from his hands and sees her holding up the blades.

“Now, let’s take care of that hair,” she says with a grin.

He hears the soft singing of the scissors as she cuts, sees the strands drift to the floor. While he was spaced out, Miwa had placed a bedsheet to catch everything. “How are the Haibas?”

“They’re good,” Miwa says. She turns to his left side, eyes squinting. “Apparently Lev is friends with one of your boy’s friends—ahh, what’s his name—”

“My who?” Tobio says, blinking.

“Kenma is his name!” Miwa says, as if she hadn’t heard. “He and Lev know each other from their show business, I guess.”

That would make Tobio’s boy Hinata, then. “Hinata isn’t ‘my boy,’” Tobio mutters. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Hmm,” is all Miwa says, before stepping in front of him to assess the bangs.

“He’s not—stop it,” Tobio grumbles. She reaches behind him and makes another pass with the comb. She’s still silent, which means.

He sighs. Fine, he’ll bite. “What did you think? About him.”

She dips the brush into the basin of water sitting on the vanity. “I said I liked him, didn’t I? He’s a nice kid,” she says, small smile on her face. She runs the comb through again. “Lively. I’m surprised you two are friends.”

Ouch. That hurt, a little.

“No, no,” Miwa says, stepping back. “Not like that, dummy.” She takes out her scissors again. “Close your eyes?” Tobio does. “I just meant that he wasn’t what I expected, is all. I really like him.”

Tobio hears the blades close, then feels the strands sever, cold metal across his forehead to keep Miwa’s hand steady. “You do?” That makes him happy. Maybe Miwa can meet Yachi-san too, and the rest of his…

He finally registers Miwa’s words.

Friends?

“He’s my friend,” Tobio says. It feels strange, to say the words and realize they’re the truth. He and Hinata are friends.

He feels lighter; maybe it’s because his hair’s getting cut.

“Mmhmm,” she says. He can hear her concentrating, sees her shadow cut through the morning light through his eyelids. “He’s good for you, I think.”

The scissors open-close once more. “What does that mean?” Tobio says. Good for him? Like daily exercise, or something?

“It means you seem happier,” Miwa says. She cuts the last strands, and Tobio opens his eyes. She’s smiling at him in the mirror. “Even though you can’t fly right now, you seem…okay. And I think it’s largely thanks to him.”

Tobio doesn’t know what to say to that. “I…maybe.” She’s not wrong, per se. Hinata is literally the reason he gets out of bed, sometimes. Because he won’t stop waking Tobio up as soon as he gets back from his early morning deliveries, like the world’s most annoying, most orange, most hyperactive alarm clock.

But the way Miwa said it makes it feel…different. Which it most definitely isn’t, because it’s not just Hinata. It’s Yachi and Yamaguchi and Suga and Daichi and Noya and Tanaka and Ukai and Takeda and yeah, even asshole Tsukishima. It’s the whole of Karasuno—they gave him a job, a roof over his head, dinners with them to eat together.

Miwa starts trimming the hair on the back of his neck; Tobio feels the vibrations in his teeth.

Friends. _Snip_. He has _friends._

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles. He’s pouting, because Miwa is right and he still can’t believe it, that—that he has friends.

Miwa doesn’t seem to mind. “Whatever you say, little bro.”

There’s a knock at the door. “Room service!” someone calls from outside their door.

“I’ll get that,” she says, shooting him a look. “Don’t move, we’re not finished yet.”

She moves, and Tobio sees himself in the mirror, his fringe much shorter now. His forehead feels naked, and he reaches up to touch the empty space.

Happier. Huh.

***

“You—”

Tobio, typing at his desk, doesn’t look up with Hinata walks in. He has to finish this last set of addresses before lunch, since this morning with Miwa took longer than he expected. “What?”

“Your _hair._ ”

He pauses and cards his fingers through his fringe. They meet air earlier than he’s used to, thanks to Miwa’s trimming. “What about it?”

Hinata’s still gaping, and Tobio waits. He trusts that Miwa wouldn’t let him walk around looking like an idiot, but Hinata’s mouth is slightly open, like Tobio’s grown a second head or something. His eyes are blown wide, almost dilated.

Hinata shifts, runs his hand through his own hair. Tobio tries not to stare—has it always been that long? Maybe Miwa could cut his, too. So it wouldn’t be so…distracting.

Finally, Hinata mutters, almost so low Tobio can’t hear him, “It…looks nice. Can see your eyes better.”

“Uh,” Tobio says, sure his brain is short-circuiting. What does he say to that? “My sister cut it, not me.” Nailed it.

Hinata flushes, which is. Interesting. Is it too warm in here? Tobio feels warm. Maybe Tobio _is_ on fire.

Face redder than his hair, Hinata makes a gurgling noise. “Just forget it,” he says. “Your face still looks scary anyway, now it’s just easier to see the scary parts.”

“I was born with this face, dumbass,” Tobio retorts, but he relaxes. They’re back to safe territory again, the familiar patterns he’s let himself get used to these past few months.

 _He’s good for you_ Miwa had said. Well, Miwa was wrong; this lightheadedness, these weird palpitations in his chest, are the exact opposite of _good for him_.

Hinata is so weird.

Tobio glances over at Hinata’s desk, just to his left. Ever since Ennoshita-san came back from his long-term gig (first scribing love letters for the royal family of a foreign kingdom, then another case for a famous playwright, according to Yachi), they’ve had to squeeze everyone’s desk a little closer to each other. It could just be Tobio imagining it, but his and Hinata’s seem closer together than everyone else’s. Probably because Hinata keeps scooching his chair across the space between them during lunch break to pester Tobio.

Hinata rummages through the bookshelves against the wall, reaching up on his tiptoes. Tobio almost smiles.

Friends.

He feels all warm inside—almost giddy with the knowledge. Hinata is his _friend._ Hinata probably has lots of friends, so it’s not a big deal to him, but Tobio feels a rush of…something. Perhaps gratitude.

“Oi, idiot,” Tobio says, standing. Friends help friends, right? He makes his way over and reaches over Hinata—hah, he’s so short. “Which one do you need?”

“Um,” Hinata says. “The…the blue one?” Tobio grabs the book and hands it over, and it’s then he realizes just how close they are, since the desks have moved closer to the bookshelves, too. Tobio looks down at him, at his neck steadily turning red. His hair curls in the back, near the nape, almost like eyelashes. This close, Tobio can see that his hair really has gotten longer—the strands wavier than they are curly. When they’d first met, his hair had been curlier, he remembers.

Idly, and only for a moment, Tobio wonders. Wonders if his fingers would come up short, running through Hinata’s hair, like they do with his own now. Probably not, since it’s gotten so long. And it probably smells different from Tobio’s too, since Hinata usually smells like wind after a flight and whatever soap he uses and, weirdly, paper—

“Here you go,” Tobio chokes out. What the hell is going on this morning?

For some reason, Miwa’s smile flashes across the space just above Hinata’s head. _You seem happier._

Tobio quickly walks back to his desk. Weird, weird. This is so weird.

He doesn’t look at Hinata as he does the same, book in his arms as he sits in his chair quietly. Which is also weird, since Hinata is never quiet.

The typewriter’s teeth clack loudly beneath Tobio’s fingers, like it’s laughing at him.

Weird, weird, _weird_.

***

_MISSION REPORT by: Maj. Iwaizumi Hajime_

_SQUADRON: KITAGAWA FIRST_

_SERIAL NUMBER: 06101994_

_DATE: November 10 th, XXXX_

_Test flight with new recruit Kageyama Tobio serial number 12221996 complete. Technique is fine. Displays difficulty in communicating and syncing with the rest of the squadron. May pose a problem for future flight runs, especially under enemy fire._

_I recommend solo recon missions from this point forward._

_APPROVED by Maj. Oikawa Tooru_

***

His first away job comes later that winter.

The observatory is in the mountains, far, far from Karasuno Postal Company. The wind in the gondola cuts right through him, despite the heat from the other Dolls who are crammed in with him.

He steps off with the others, pulls his coat tighter round his shoulders, and buries his nose in his green scarf (Hinata lent it to him). His briefcase, now a familiar weight at his side after weeks of travel across the continent, is steady in his hands. He joins the rest of the Dolls in single file and begins the climb up the narrow cliffs.

The request had sounded interesting, and Tobio hasn’t seen much of the mountain ranges to the north, so he’d claimed it. Fifty Auto-Memory Dolls and fifty archivists, working together in pairs to transcribe and translate the observatory’s newest shipment of manuscripts and codices. Some are so fragile that they’d turn to dust if exposed to the open air, the overseer informs them. Their work will be invaluable to the observatory’s research of the cosmos.

So Tobio’s here, alone in a library on top of a mountain, staring at the checkered tile floor as sunlight streams into the open hall from the glass roof above onto rows of wooden tables. Three story balconies ring the perimeter, each floor containing shelves and shelves that go on into shadow, and Tobio wonders how many books must be housed here. If Hinata were here, he’d challenge Tobio to see who could guess closest to the correct number. Tobio would win, of course.

“Tobio-kun! How are ya?”

He looks up—and yep, there’s—

“Atsumu-san.” Tobio tries to remember the name of the guy next to him, the one who looks like a seagull. “H…Hoshiumi-san. Hello.”

“How’ve you been?” Atsumu says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Written lots of letters?”

Tobio grunts noncommittedly and nods to Hoshiumi, who smiles back. “Aran-kun had another job,” he says, and Tobio remembers the other guy in their class. “But he told us to tell you hello!”

Tobio’s a little floored that someone he barely knows would remember his name, but he supposes they had shared a classroom for a month. “Ah,” he says, feeling painfully awkward. He hasn’t felt like this in awhile—he’s gotten so used to the chatter at KPC, usually from an orange idiot who never stops talking. “Cool.”

“Kageyama, you work at the same company as Hinata Shouyou, right?” Hoshiumi says. Speak of the devil.

Tobio blinks. “Yes,” he says. That’s—what, three different people who all know Hinata? Fukunaga Shouhei, Lev Haiba, and now Hoshiumi. How the hell does Hinata know everyone? “Do you know him?”

Atsumu sighs and shakes his head. “Hoshiumi will not shut _up_ about Hinata, oh my god. Ever since he read his letters for that noble family, ah, whatsits name—they call him ‘the Grand King’ or somethin’—”

“Oikawa Tooru,” Hoshiumi confirms, and Tobio nearly drops his typewriter case on his foot. “The love letters! Between Major Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime. Didn’t y’all read them? They were works of _art_.”

Tobio can’t breathe.

Letters? Between Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san?

Hinata wrote them?

Surely they’d gotten Hinata mixed up with someone else. Hinata’s a common name, after all.

But no, Hoshiumi had said Hinata _Shouyou_. _His_ Hinata, then?

“Of course I read ‘em, anyone who picked up a newspaper this year has read ‘em,” Atsumu says. “I’m pretty sure he just let Oikawa dictate on his own in the last few letters, dontcha think? It got kinda weird towards the end. Like what kinda nickname is ‘Iwa-chan?’”

He should say something, clarify that they no, actually, Hinata Shouyou does not work at Karasuno. At least not his friend Hinata Shouyou. Because Tobio would’ve known, would’ve been the first to know. They were competing to see who could become the best Doll, after all. Even if it’s not the specifics—Hinata always tells him about his clients, nearly every night, walking to the airfield or grabbing dinner or watching the stars on the roof. And Tobio listens; he always does.

And they’re rivals yes, but they’re also…

“That’s what makes it even more romantic!” Hoshiumi says, hand over his heart. “A good Doll knows when to speak, but an even better one knows when to let the client’s voice shine through. Iwaizumi’s Doll was really good too, wasn’t he? His letters weren’t as bold but you could still tell the feelings were there!”

“I mean, yeah, they were good. But everyone knows Oikawa ‘n Iwaizumi were gonna get hitched, arranged marriage or not. I mean, c’mon, their families’ve known each other for generations.”

“I heard Iwaizumi’s Doll was also someone from Karasuno!”

“Ah, yeah, I think that’s what Aran-kun said, too.” Atsumu turns to Tobio. “Tobio-kun, you probably know him, too. I think his name was…Eiji—no, Ennoshita—?”

“Yeah, that’s him! Iwaizumi’s Doll.” Hoshiumi says. “Ennoshita Chikara. Do you know him, Kageyama?”

He has to tell them; this can’t be _right._

“When did this happen?” Tobio says, finally finding his voice. He feels like he’s underwater, like sound comes to him from across a lake.

Because he and Hinata are rivals, yes, but they’re also friends. And if Hinata has talked to Oikawa in length, then there’s a chance…

Atsumu and Hoshiumi both look up in surprise; Tobio realizes his voice is loud and harsh, cutting even through the chatter of the Dolls around them. A few of them pause in their conversations and look over. Shit. He needs to—needs to calm down.

He clears his throat, tries to adjust his tone to an acceptable volume and cadence. “When…when did Hinata write those letters?”

Hoshiumi looks at Tobio in curiosity. “This past summer,” he says. “Right about when we got our certification, right?”

Atsumu nods, chin to his hand. “Yeah, cause ‘Samu wouldn’t let me hear the end of it. Called me a scrub for not having written anythin’ even though we’d just graduated.” He glances at Tobio. “It was pretty big news, since the letters were published publicly ‘n all. Didn’t he tell ya, since ya both work at the same place?”

Tobio reaches for the scarf round his neck, warm from the heat of his skin.

“No," he says, fingers tightening. “No, he didn’t.”

***

He’s paired with a quiet, stoic guy named Ushijima. Tobio likes him immediately; he’s efficient and he and Tobio keep perfect pace with one another.

One of their first books is, understandably, about the solar system, a legend that describes the appearance of a comet every two hundred years.

 _“They say we are made of stardust,”_ Ushijima reads, monotone. After he had realized that Tobio could keep up with his dictation, he read steadily, never wavering. It’s kind of funny to hear him say these things in such a neutral voice.

Tobio keeps in time with him, every letter as precise as always. They find a rhythm, and Tobio lets himself enjoy the meaning of the words. _“Thus, every two centuries, she returns to the land where her people reside, to remind them of whence they came, and where they will return. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; from the infinite comes the finite, and so back to the infinite stars we return, to our final home in the sky. Those who see it are blessed by the heavens…”_

It’s interesting, at the very least.

They finish three day’s worth of work in one, and as the overseer debriefs the group in the library that evening, Tobio makes a mental note to tell Hinata so they can add it to the score.

Hinata.

Tobio walks back to his room that evening still uneasy about the whole Oikawa thing. Why hadn’t Hinata told him he’d written for Oikawa-san? Normally he wouldn’t shut up about scribing for clients, especially high-profile ones.

What if…Hinata knows? Oikawa certainly had no reservations when it came to being dramatic, but he wasn’t cruel, and he certainly wouldn’t just go around telling people about Tobio’s accident. Or why it had happened. There was no reason for him to tell Hinata anything, unless Hinata had specifically asked.

And that’s just it, isn’t it? The only reason Hinata hasn’t brought it up is because he knows, in some capacity, how badly Tobio fucked up. Which means he’s known for _months_ now, and hasn’t…

He hasn’t said anything.

The stairway is cold, this high up. Tobio stops on the landing and looks out through one of the windows. He sees the dark shapes of the mountains in the early evening sky, their peaks lower on the horizon than he’s used to.

He remembers that first morning, how it was far too early and he way too sleepy to consider Hinata’s visit as anything other than odd. As Atsumu had said earlier, right after graduation. Hinata had been away that month, scribing for a big job, hadn’t he?

The dates lined up. It made sense.

He remembers Hinata banging on his door, hair threaded through with absent wind. His eyes, piercing and focused as he pinned the Doll insignia to Tobio’s shirt, knuckles brushing against his collarbone. _Congratulations_.

His hand had been warm. Had he known, then?

And then—the airfield, the glint of the keys as he tossed them to Tobio. _I want to see you fly._

Then, too? He hasn’t asked Tobio since, but Tobio had assumed it was because he’d refused that first time, before his first team dinner. And Hinata hasn’t asked him to fly since.

 _You are burning_ he had said. Tobio had thought it was because he’d been so obviously freaked out that evening, but what if it hadn’t been? What if Hinata had known?

The familiar anxiety rises in his chest as he stares out the window; the fear of being left behind again. Of getting lost, of no one finding him. He won’t—he _can’t_.

But—wait.

If Hinata did know…would it even make a difference? In all these past few months, he hasn’t pushed, hasn’t asked. He’s just…been there.

The realization dawns slowly: Hinata, for whatever reason, has stayed.

Why?

The sky is bigger here. The night darker, this far away from the city.

If…if he did know. Would it really be so bad if he did?

“Kageyama?”

He starts, looks away from the window.

Black hair that sticks straight up, now shaved at the sides. Doll insignia on his lapel, his mouth hanging open slightly.

Tobio stares, feels the world turn to ice.

No way. No fucking way. Here, of all places? He blinks once, twice, three times. Nope, he’s still there, standing on a few stairs above the landing. His eyes are wide.

“Kindaichi,” Tobio says, and he’s surprised at how normal his voice sounds.

Kindaichi stares at him. “You—” he says, his hand a fist at his side. He shakes his head, looks off to a spot just over Tobio’s shoulder.

They’re silent for just a moment.

“It’s been awhile,” Kindaichi says, still not looking at him. That’s true. It has been awhile. “How…how are you?”

Tobio nods before he realizes that that’s not a real answer. Kindaichi doesn’t seem to mind though, just nods back. “That’s…good.” They look anywhere but each other. This is…really not how Tobio expected to see him again, if ever.

The last time they were in a room together, Kindaichi also wouldn’t look him in the eye. Hadn’t even said a word to him, along with the rest of the squadron, but the message had been clear.

_We’re not following your orders anymore._

Still, Tobio had ignored it then, the tension. They would just have to keep up with him, after all, and it’d work out fine. Just as it always had, until of course, it hadn’t.

He braces himself for the anger, the disgust. You, a Doll? You, someone who brings people together? Give me a break, Kindaichi will say. You have never understood how to look past your own ego, how to connect with others.

Kindaichi takes a breath, and Tobio flinches.

“Well, see you around,” Kindaichi says quickly, his face unreadable. He walks past Tobio on the landing and down the stairs. He doesn’t look back.

Tobio hears his footsteps echo, then fade. He realizes his shoulders are tense, edging their way to his ears; he takes a breath, lets them relax.

What the hell?

***

That night, he finally dreams.

_The sky is just beginning to gray, thin razor of light appearing at the horizon’s edge. Tobio is flying, and he knows that his squadron is nearby. It’s the last run for the night, and everyone, Tobio included, is tired._

_Tobio is so tired._

_He curves left gently, and that’s when he sees it. A familiar hill, a familiar roof—how does he know what Karasuno looks like from above? But he knows it somehow, knows it intimately. As familiar as—_

_“Oi, Bakageyama!”_

_He turns—oh, there’s Hinata, flying beside him. He’s not talking through the radio, but Tobio can somehow still hear him. “Hinata. What are you doing?”_

_Hinata holds up a knapsack. “Delivering mail, dummy. What are you doing?”_

_Tobio looks back at his hands on the joystick. “I’m—”_

_The sun rises above the horizon, and the world turns red. Tobio looks back and sees Hinata gone from the cockpit, his plane careening away from Tobio’s. It loses altitude, plummets towards the ground._

_“No,” Tobio says. “No, no, no—” He nosedives to keep pace, and sees the that the ground is red, too._

_The earth is on fire, flames licking up at the blood-red sky. It burns, it burns. He pulls up as fast as he can, away from the heat of the ground. He’s burning._

_And then suddenly, the fire disappears, and the earth turns black and smoking. The fingers of flame turn to skeletal trees, their charred arms crumbling to dust. What was he doing, again? Tobio has to keep going—it’s not his job to mourn, only to observe. He only comes around every two hundred years, after all. There’s no time._

_But still the carnage, the quiet beyond the rumble of the motor, makes his hands clench. Flying now does not make him feel like a giant, like he’s on top of the world; there is nothing of Kazuyo-san in the gaping maw of destruction below._

_He has to keep going, but he’s forgotten something. What is it?_

_His radio crackles in the black sky; Kunimi’s voice comes through, as impassive as ever,_ all units, it’s time to head back, _he says,_ Oikawa said it’s time.

_Tobio stares out over the barren field. He is drowning, he is falling. He is a star, lit aflame—_

You don’t realize it yet, but, _someone says, and Tobio reaches for his radio to tell Kunimi to wait, he can’t go back yet, because he’s forgetting something, someone—who?_

You are burning, _Hinata says, his eyes gold, and Tobio wrenches away from the earth only to fall right back down again._

***

He jerks awake, chest heaving. He’s _freezing—_ he must’ve kicked the blankets off his thin mattress in his sleep. The wind rattles at his window; he’s glad for the thick woolen socks Yachi had given him before he left.

He turns over on his side, closes his eyes. Sees red hair, feels warm again.

***

The rest of the week goes smoothly; Ushijima says no more than forty words to him that aren’t read from a manuscript, and Tobio is eternally grateful, because between meals with Atsumu and sometimes Hoshiumi, he’s already getting an earful on the daily.

Atsumu, apparently, is paired with a weirdo obsessed with wiping down Atsumu’s typewriter every time Atsumu uses it, even though it’s _Atsumu’s_ typewriter. He has curly dark hair and always wears a mask, but Atsumu can tell that he’s gorgeous. He’s the one wearing the green cloak, over there, oh God Tobio-kun he’s lookin’ this way okay act natural—

Thankfully, he doesn’t have any more run-ins with Kindaichi, who he suspects has looked up his dorm room and what wing he and Ushijima work in and has been actively avoiding both. Or maybe the observatory’s facilities are just that large; Tobio certainly isn’t going exploring in his free time to find out, lest he get lost.

On their last day, Ushijima looks up from their shared desk and says, “Rooftop, tonight at three AM. The comet we read about the first day is coming. We’re watching it.”

Tobio stops typing just in time, so focused he’d almost typed Ushijima’s…invitation? He thinks it’s an invitation.

“That’s…late,” he says. He doesn’t want to get up that early, or stay up that late.

“It only comes every two hundred years,” Ushijima says. “Tendou’s calculations are never wrong.”

Who was Tendou again? Tobio thinks it’s the guy with the spiky red hair and gold-fish eyes who eats with Ushijima in the mess hall—although they’ve never been properly introduced. Ushijima must’ve mentioned him a few times, which for Ushijima must mean they’re best friends.

Ushijima looks at him, face as impassive as ever.

Well, it _is_ Tobio’s last night. Two hundred years is a long time. Might as well; then he could brag about it to Hinata, right after he added all the books he’s transcribed this week to his total.

Again, the thought of Hinata makes his stomach do an odd flip, one tinged with less annoyance than usual. It’s only been a few weeks since they’ve seen each other—perhaps Tobio is getting sentimental. Or maybe it’s the worry eating at him from his run-in with Kindaichi the other day. The first option is quite frankly alarming; the second, just depressing. 

Still, even if Hinata knows just how pitiful Tobio really is, he’s somehow decided to stick around, right? Tobio tries to comfort himself with this. It doesn’t really work.

“Okay,” he says, and Ushijima nods. “Three AM.”

***

He sits at the edge of the world, feet dangling above the clouds as Ushijima gets settled beside him, as stoic as ever. He passes a cup of soup to Tobio, who nods his thanks, and cups his hands around it, blows across the rim in time to the freezing wind.

“Where’s your friend?” he asks.

Ushijima gestures to the giant dome behind them, which contains the observatory’s telescope. “Tendou gets cold easily.”

“Ah.”

The sky is infinite above them, a blue-black bowl spattered with stars and smeared with galaxies. The mountain peaks form a circle around its perimeter, some near their knees in the distance, others at their shoulders as they draw closer to the observatory. He’d noticed it when they arrived, but with every passing day it becomes more apparent—the observatory really is the highest point in the mountain range. It’s almost—almost—like flying, if he stares far enough away for long enough.

Tobio feels like he could reach out, knock on the door to heaven with a loose fist just to see who’d answer. The comet is just barely visible, a smudge of light beside its brighter neighbors. It is new moon.

He wonders where Hinata is right now, if he’s looking at the same sky. Maybe he’s even flying, since he does night deliveries. It’s a weeknight, though, so probably not. He usually reserves them for Saturday nights, because Friday nights are when they hang out, either on the roof, or more recently, in one of their rooms. Hinata usually talks—about a client he had that day, or a new restaurant, or something funny that happened in the mail room with Nishinoya and Tanaka—lying on his back with his feet up against Tobio’s wall while Tobio sits on his bed and reads, or sometimes writes letters to Miwa. 

It occurs to Tobio that this is the longest number of consecutive days he hasn’t seen Hinata. He doesn’t know what to with that information, and even less with the realization that he’s not happy about it.

“Who are you thinking about?” comes Ushijima’s quiet, rumbling voice.

Tobio looks away from the mist. “What?”

“You have the look,” Ushijima says, as if that explains anything. “When people come here and look out at something big, they think about something big, too. They have eyes like yours.”

It’s maybe the greatest number of words Ushijima has said to him so far that aren’t related to their work. Tobio’s kind of touched. Is this what goes on in his head, in all the time he isn’t talking? Maybe it’s all the books. Or the altitude.

“My friend,” he says, eyes back on the sea of fog.

“Friend?” Ushijima says.

Tobio pauses. Even though he knows they’re friends, somehow now in front of the vastness, the word doesn’t seem quite right.

He isn’t sure how to define Hinata and everything he is. Rival? Partner? Friend? No matter what word he uses, it doesn’t feel enough, somehow.

Enough for what, though?

“Friend,” he repeats. “Or…partner, I guess.”

Ushijima hums, and Tobio revels in the taste of the new word on his tongue. _Partners._ Huh.

“You were in the war.”

Another pause. Tobio had known from the moment they met that Ushijima, too, had somehow been a part of the war. It was in the way he carried himself, the set to his shoulders. But it was mostly how he made his bed, hospital corners tucked under and tight enough to suffocate—they had stopped by at one point to pick up some books.

“Yeah,” he says.

“You were hurt.”

“Yes,” Tobio says, almost amazed. How perceptive is Ushijima? Or how obvious Tobio? Maybe it hadn’t even come as a surprise to Hinata, if Oikawa really did tell him about Tobio’s accident. Maybe the hurt is somehow painted on him, visible in ways his scar is not. “How did you know?”

“Tendou was paired with Kindaichi.”

“Oh.” So Ushijima isn’t a psychic. Perhaps the hurt is not painted on his skin. That’s comforting, at least.

They sit in silence for a few more minutes, the cold night air numbing their faces. Tobio shivers, takes a sip from his soup—it’s salty, almost sweet. He pulls his scarf closer to his chin. Stupid Hinata, making him think other people were psychic. Surely, this is his fault.

He’s thinking about Hinata again. This is getting ridiculous.

“There,” Ushijima says suddenly, pointing up at the trail of light that glows around the comet, gradually, like waking up. It leaves behind an incandescent smear, glowing chalk across the dark blackboard of a sky, a brightness that takes its time. Patient, as if here to stay.

“It’s beautiful,” Tobio whispers, and beside him, Ushijima nods.

Tobio puts down his cup of soup and stands, careful not to stand too close to the edge. This close to a drop, it feels like he’s tempting fate, daring gravity to pull him down. I’m here, he wants to say to the open air. What can you do about it but watch? He waits for the nausea, the spinning.

It doesn’t come.

Well, he’s not in a plane, after all. Perhaps that is why.

So he keeps his eyes on the comet instead. Its light is…familiar, somehow.

“Only once every two hundred years,” Ushijima says. “Never again in our lifetime.”

Tobio thinks it’s comforting, to see something ancient return. How strange.

_When people come here and look out at something big, they think about something big, too._

Tobio feels smug. Hinata isn’t big at all; he’s far too short to compare to the mountains before them. When he gets back, he’ll have to tell him all about it. Just to see his face when Tobio describes standing at the top of the world, literally.

Or better yet, Hinata should come here. Maybe they could both request time off or something. There won’t be any once-in-a-lifetime comets to watch by then, but the vastness opens things up here, somehow makes everything sharper. He’d like the view of the mountains, too, Tobio knows. Perhaps here the sky could finally hold everything Hinata is: friend, rival, partner. Too big for one word alone—

Oh.

Something…big. Whatever Hinata is to Tobio, it’s larger than he can fathom. Like two hundred years or a single lifetime or the ocean at night. Tobio wonders just how far it goes; what is this?

What is this thing, this feeling?

“It’s splitting,” Ushijima says, and Tobio blinks, the thought scattered.

“What—?”

He looks up and sees how the comet splits into two, leaves pieces of itself strewn across the night sky for Tobio’s eyes to track, to gather. Every two hundred years, and Tobio is here to see it. One day it will burn up completely in some atmosphere, perhaps this one, perhaps some faraway planet’s, but not today. It is beautiful in the way near-infinite things are, its thin connection to mortality an anchor to the knowable.

Dust upon dust; as he watches the sky, Tobio feels gloriously, wonderfully small.

 _“And so back to the infinite stars we return, to our final home in the sky,”_ Ushijima murmurs.

Maybe the legend-writers were onto something. Home, huh? This familiarity, the pull towards something greater; do comets resist gravity, too? Is that why they burn so brightly?

As they watch, Tobio wonders: where has he seen this light before?

And in the sky above, the comet continues to fall, silent above the wind. Onward, towards her next two hundred years of flight.

***

(Because if Hinata has known all this time why Tobio can’t tell the difference between flying and falling, why it’s his own damn fault he woke up alone in a hospital with only a scar the shape of the moon to show for it—then that means there’s no reason for Tobio to feel this weight in his chest. The one that comes when he least expects it, when he’s washing his hair in the showers or looking for a fresh bottle of ink or late at night as he watches the shadows on his ceiling—it tastes like burning metal and guilt and fear, and he had thought—he’d thought it was because Hinata didn’t know the truth of his fall. That it was okay, that there was still a part of Tobio that was hidden, and that’s why he’s accepted him, slung his arm around his shoulder after the day’s work has ended, smiled at him every morning in the pale light of his doorway. It would mean that there’s no reason to fear Hinata leaving, to fear that a day will come when Tobio doesn’t look at him and think oh, _this_ is what it feels like to have a friend. Oh, how lucky I am to have another day with you. And another, and another.

Because if he does know, if he _does_ —

Tobio is fucking terrified. Why hasn’t Hinata left?

Why is Tobio still scared that he will?)

***

Tobio is oddly touched when Ushijima actually sees him off at the gondola with the other Dolls. His friend Tendou shows up too—probably to say goodbye to Kindaichi, who looks nervous around the guy, or maybe that’s because he’s still avoiding Tobio—along with Atsumu’s partner, who looks like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.

“Thank you for all your hard work this week,” Tobio says to Ushijima.

Ushijima holds out his hand, which Tobio takes gladly. “Thank you,” he says. “You’re an efficient Doll.” Tobio feels a swell of pride. “If you ever need another job, the observatory could use a scribe like you.”

Tobio shakes his head. “Thank you very much. But I already have a position at Karasuno. And…” He feels warm again. “People are waiting for me.”

Ushijima studies him, quiet. He seems to be looking for something in Tobio’s face. Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because after a moment he simply nods.

“You were thinking of him when you saw the comet,” he says, in that monotone way of his.

Tobio blinks. “Sorry?”

“He’s lucky, your friend,” he says. “To have you by his side. I wish you good luck.”

Before Tobio can ask what the hell that means, he gives a final bow, then walks away to join the other librarians.

Tobio stares at his retreating back. Lucky? Who, Hinata?

Tobio’s still staring at the horizon when the gondola starts moving. Atsumu comes to stand beside him, watching the observatory disappear into the fog and mist. Tobio wonders if the green and black bracelet around his wrist, the one Atsumu is now fiddling with, has anything to do with the heavy sigh he heaves a moment later.

“Guess we’re goin’ home,” he says, leaning on the railing and putting his hand on his chin. “That gig felt way too short, Tobio-kun.”

Tobio turns away from the rapidly disappearing cliffs, the cable lines to the observatory now shrouded in fog, towards the rising sun.

 _He’s lucky, your friend._ Perhaps Ushijima really is psychic.

“Maaaaan. Omi-omi and I were just becomin’ friends, too,” Atsumu sighs. Seems friendship abounds among Dolls. Maybe Atsumu is psychic, too. “I don’t wanna go home. This was so much more interestin’ than home. Way more interestin.’”

Privately, Tobio disagrees. He sighs. “Just write him a letter, Atsumu-san.”

***

_EXECUTIVE ORDER BY: Maj. Oikawa Tooru_

_SQUADRON: KITAGAWA FIRST_

_SERIAL NUMBER: 07201994_

_DATE: November 23 th, XXXX_

_EFFECTIVE: Immediately_

_Solo missions are too dangerous. No more for Tobio-chan!_

_APPROVED by Maj. Oikawa Tooru (me!)_

_[EDIT]_

_November 24 th by Maj. Iwaizumi Hajime: _

_Oikawa is no longer allowed to write reports._

_DENIED by Maj. Oikawa Tooru_

***

He steps off the boat onto the docks, the familiar hustle and bustle comforting. It’s much warmer here, even in winter. He hadn’t realized…

“Kageyama!”

…how much he’d missed it.

There—familiar red hair, one hand waving wildly from behind a stack of crates. “Kageyaaaaaama!”

Every doubt—what Hinata might or might not know, why he didn’t tell Tobio that he had scribed for Oikawa—they all evaporate instantly. Tobio decides, right then and there, as Hinata gets up on his toes, jumps a little higher, that he doesn’t care if Hinata keeps secrets from him. As long as it means he can still smile at Tobio like that?

“Kageyama, over here!”

He doesn’t care one bit.

Tobio starts walking, keeping his eyes on Hinata as they both maneuver around dockhands and other passengers, movements light and fast. Tobio feels something in his chest loosen, unfurl.

He comes to stand in front of Tobio, arms behind his back. He rocks back and forth on his feet. “Welcome back,” he says, grinning ear to ear.

Tobio drinks him the sight of him, of a stray curl behind his ear, his jacket around his shoulders as always. Easy stance, hands in his pockets, watching Tobio watch him. Today, his scarf is blue. Wait—that’s _Tobio’s_ scarf. No wonder Hinata had lent him his.

Ushijima might’ve been wrong. Right now, Tobio feels like he’s the lucky one, not the other way around.

Not that he’s gonna tell Hinata that. He’d rather die.

So instead he makes a grab for Hinata’s hair, which Hinata dodges with practiced ease. “Don’t get run over, idiot,” he says, not even trying to stop the smile, although it quickly becomes a frown when Hinata sticks his tongue out.

“I’m just excited to see you!” he says.

What. “What,” Tobio says. “Dumbass. That’s embarrassing.”

Hinata only grins wider. “But it’s true!”

“That’s…” He doesn’t have an answer to that. “Whatever.”

“Aw, did you miss me too, Bakageyama?”

“No.”

“Liar!”

They smile at each other like fools. Not that Tobio would ever admit that he’s smiling.

“Welcome home,” Hinata says, his voice softer, almost so soft Tobio can’t hear him over the bustle of the docks. His eyes, bright and lovely, are fixed on Tobio.

“Yeah,” Tobio mumbles. It’s so _warm_. “Glad to be back.”

Tobio decides that his cheeks are warm because of the chill, and follows Hinata back into the crowd.

***

After his debrief with Ukai, Takeda informs him he has the next few days off to rest.

“I’m fine,” he says. He wants to work, really. It’s been awhile since he’s felt this good, this _useful._ He wants to keep going.

But Ukai holds up a hand. “Your health is more important,” he says. “Take some time to get some rest.”

Tobio fidgets—Ukai’s not wrong, per se. He hasn’t been sleeping well since his run-in with Kindaichi, even on the voyage back. So it’s been about, what, a week? Since he’s gotten a good night’s rest. Can Ukai tell? He hopes not.

But regardless, an order’s an order. He nods, thanks them both, and leaves.

Hinata’s waiting for him outside Ukai’s office, a fact that makes Tobio feel all warm inside again. They’re joined by Yamaguchi, Yachi, and Tsukishima as they pass the Doll’s room towards the stairs. They—Yachi and Yamaguchi—congratulate Tobio on his latest job, ask how he’s been.

It’s so warm, Tobio thinks again. Perhaps it’s because it was so cold up north, and now he’s just noticing the difference?

It’s almost a little too warm, actually. A little…overwhelming.

He shakes the feeling off. Hinata is being annoying again.

“I can’t believe you’re beating me,” he groans, hands going behind his head.

Tobio shoots him a smug grin. “Better start writing,” he says. “You won’t catch up in a million years.”

Yamaguchi snickers. “How many manuscripts did you transcribe, Kageyama?”

Yachi looks up eagerly, and even Tsukishima seems vaguely interested, which is a first.

“Fifty-two,” Tobio says, smiling at Hinata. Hah.

“That’s not _fair,_ ” Hinata whines. He kicks his feet as he walks down the stairs, jumping ahead out of hair-grabbing range. “I still think you shouldn’t count, like, half of those.”

“No way in hell,” Tobio scoffs.

Hinata turns to glare up at him, but he’s not actually mad and they both know it. If anything, he looks even more determined. “Yeah, well, I just got another request, so just watch, Yamayama. I’m _so_ gonna—”

“Watch where you’re going, dumbass,” Tobio interrupts, just as Yachi says _Hinata, look out!_

Hinata, that _idiot_ —he’s too busy looking at Tobio to watch his step, and his foot slips. Tobio sees it in slow motion—the stumble, his face half turned, the one eye Tobio can see gone wide with surprise, the small _O_ of his mouth. How he’s still looking at Tobio, even as he’s pulled away.

It’s instinct, how he reaches out, hand open and desperate. This is gravity, and he knows he can’t win; knows this, perhaps, more intimately than anyone. But still, Tobio reaches.

He hasn’t been sleeping well these past few weeks, and he thinks in a distant part of himself that it’s odd, how sometimes dreams and reality become one and the same.

Hinata falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! <3  
> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/chubsthehamster) and [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/chubsonthemoon).


	4. Across the Violet Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of [adamantine dreams](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-MCo5uY10c&list=PLJbWNarT9D8msO9D8p3nvq7Wj9FBQvvkC&index=25&ab_channel=AaronMelgar).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for a panic attack in this chapter! if you want to skip it, it starts with "He pauses. How to explain?" and ends with "Neither of them move."

Thankfully, it’s just a sprain. A very minor one, but a sprain nevertheless.

“You _dumbass,_ ” Tobio says for the hundredth time since Hinata fucking _fell down the stairs_ last week. Now Tobio is accompanying him to his latest request, somewhere in a little mountain town a three-day train ride away, since the idiot can’t operate a typewriter.

Hinata is still pouting, leaning the hand that isn’t a sling against the window, cheeks puffed out. “Yes. I heard you the first million times,” he says sullenly. “You don’t have to remind me every second.”

Tobio wants to argue—he’s been telling Hinata to _watch where he’s going_ practically since he’s met him, and did he listen? But Hinata really does look down; even his hair’s a little wilted, which is…depressing. Tobio frowns, resists the strange urge to reach across the space between their seats and run his fingers through it, just to get it poofy again.

The more he considers it, the more concerned he gets about his own head, so he looks out the window with Hinata instead. “So, where is this place, anyway?”

“It’s where I grew up,” Hinata says, and Tobio chokes.

“What?” He tears his eyes from the window. Hinata still looks miserable. “You didn’t tell me that.” He tries to keep the accusation out of his voice; it’s not like he’d ever told Hinata where he’d grown up.

“Yeah,” Hinata says. He pokes at his cast. “I didn’t tell you ‘cause my friend Izumi requested me, actually. I was afraid you would think it didn’t count.”

“Of course it still counts, you dumbass,” Tobio says, relief flooding him. So Hinata isn’t so ashamed of Tobio that he didn’t want anyone from his hometown to meet him. That’s good. “But I guess we can just not count this one, if you really want to.”

“What?” Ah, there it is—a little life back in his voice. For the first time since they’ve boarded, he looks Tobio in the eye. “No, that’s not fair, since you’re ahead right now—”

“Obviously,” Tobio retorts, more out of habit than anything, because now Hinata is sitting up and looking more animated than he has in days.

“This _totally_ counts, because it came through our request box and I was _specifically_ asked for, so…”

Yes. Hinata should never have to look so sad, Tobio reasons with himself. It practically violates the laws of nature.

While Hinata defends his rightful ownership of the job, the countryside flies by outside, fields and forests and mountains fading to blue-black blurs as the sun sets. The lanterns in the corridor outside their car flicker on, and Hinata brings out the meat buns they had bought for the journey.

“ _Doesn’t count_ ,” he mumbles, shoving the whole thing into his mouth. “Bakageyama. Of course it counts.”

“Fine, fine,” Tobio says, feels the relief like a physical thing. Hinata is back to normal now.

After they finish, Hinata falls asleep against the window, cheek smushed against his palm, and Tobio watches him breathe until his own eyelids grow heavy. He lets the world go fuzzy, lets himself breathe in time with the tracks that click beneath them, and closes his eyes, too.

***

Hinata’s home makes perfect sense, somehow: fields and rice paddies and a tiny train station whose tinier platform Tobio stumbles onto, into blinding sunlight and—what the fuck? Humidity.

“It’s…January,” Tobio says, squinting out at the dusty road before them. “What the fuck.”

“Yeah, we don’t really have a winter, this far south,” Hinata says, appearing beside him in new clothes—light pants, thin cotton shirt that’s a little tight around the arms. So that’s where he’d gone. And he didn’t think to tell Tobio, the asshole. “Although it’s nice and cool today!”

Tobio eyes the sun doubtfully, bright in the clear blue sky. It’s not hot, per se, but it’s definitely not winter, either. “Right.”

They hear footsteps—a young girl, perhaps about fifteen, comes from around the corner, her hair the same violent shade of red as Hinata’s. She stops in front of the platform and grins, hands on her hips.

“Yo,” she says, her smile eerily familiar.

“Natsu!” Hinata launches himself at her, somehow picking her up with one arm and spinning her around. She squeals with laughter.

“Put me down, Shouyou!” she says, kicking her feet up.

Ah, so this is Natsu. The little sister. She’s shorter than her brother, if that’s even possible, but not by much. Her wears her hair tied high on the crown of her head and a long skirt. She has a necklace with a disk-shaped pendant the same color as Hinata’s earring. It glints in the late afternoon light as the two of them spin in dizzying circles.

After a few more revolutions, Shouyou complies, setting her down on her feet. “How are you!”

“Busy,” she says, poking his side; he giggles. Tobio hadn’t known that Hinata was ticklish. Something to file away for future reference, perhaps.

Natsu looks up, as if hearing Tobio’s thought. “Hello,” she says, squinting. “Who are you?”

“Kageyama Tobio,” he says automatically. He winces; he didn’t have time to think about how his voice should sound. Was that too rude? Too abrupt?

Her eyes light up in an almost familiar way, and he feels a rush of relief. “Oh! So _you’re_ Kageyama, huh?”

Tobio doesn’t know what that means, but it can’t be good. The relief is instantly replaced by suspicion. “So she knows about me,” he says to Hinata. Hinata shrugs, easy smile on his lips. That can’t be good either. “What did you tell them.”

Natsu’s mouth suddenly does something very strange, the corners reaching so far up her face Tobio almost feels concerned. He knows that smile. “ _Oh_ ,” she says again, this time in a tone that Tobio knows for sure isn’t good. “He’s told us a lot.”

Oh, hell. Tobio stares at Hinata, who suddenly seems very interested in his shoes. “What—?”

“Where’s Mom?” Hinata interjects. He marches up the few steps and grabs Tobio’s arm with his good hand, tugging him along down the dusty dirt road. As they pass Natsu, Tobio sees her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline.

“She’s getting dinner ready,” Natsu says, following them. She comes to walk beside Tobio as they continue down the road, leaning past him to peer at her older brother. “What happened to your arm?”

“Nothing,” Hinata says.

“He fell,” Tobio informs her, and she purses her lips.

“Kageyama, you don’t have to tell her! Jeez, whose side are you on, anyway?”

“Was it because he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going?” Natsu asks, as if her brother hadn’t spoken. Oh, Tobio likes her.

“Yes,” he says. Hinata elbows him in the ribs. He winces, but it’s win for him, and they both know it. “Yes, it was.”

“I feel like this is payback, somehow,” Hinata mutters, and Tobio smiles to himself.

***

They pass by several houses, all a good few acres from each other, each with their own weathered mailbox. The rice paddies are still and quiet, the late afternoon sun sliding between the mountains. It’s…peaceful here. Tobio likes it.

The Hinata household is wide and spacious, dark wood and sliding doors and a large yard that encircles the property. Tobio follows the Hinatas to the side door that faces away from the entrance, still unsure of where he’s supposed to be staying. He actually hadn’t asked Hinata if his family was okay with him crashing at his place. Should he have asked? Oh hell, he totally should’ve.

“Um—” he begins.

"Mom!” Natsu says, taking off her shoes as she pads inside. Tobio watches awkwardly as Hinata does the same. When he realizes Tobio isn’t coming in, he hisses, “Hurry _up,_ ohmygod. You’re letting all the mosquitoes in.”

Guess that answers that question.

So Tobio removes his shoes as well, just as a woman with dark hair comes around the corner, with an apron tied around her waist.

“Hello, hello!” she says, arms open wide, and Hinata rushes forward to hug her. “Welcome home, son.”

Natsu hops up and joins them, on her tiptoes as she embraces them both. “Nee-chan, your hair smells like sweat.”

Tobio looks away, feeling more awkward than he’s ever felt in his entire awkward life. His chest aches—this is an old pain, from when he was younger, but he feels it all the same.

He looks around. Hinata’s home is just as welcoming as it seemed from the outside; they’re in some kind of hallway with an open set of doors to a living room. Tobio can just see the edge of a kitchen table and a few chairs around it. The wood of the walls is worn but sturdy, and sunlight streams in from the windows. 

Here, too, it is warm.

“You must be Kageyama.”

He jerks; Hinata’s mother is smiling at him with the same easy happiness he’s seen in her son’s face so many times. It’s almost alarming, how quickly he recognizes him in the brown of her eyes.

“Yes ma’am,” he says, bowing. “I, uh. Yes.”

“Shouyou didn’t tell me you were coming,” she says, a frown in Hinata’s direction, and Tobio panics, apologies ready on his tongue. But then she says, “You should’ve let me know sooner; the guest room isn’t ready, Shouyou. You could’ve at least sent a letter.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Hinata says, and Tobio realizes that his hand—the sprained one—has been hidden behind his back. “You see, ah…”

She narrows her eyes at him. “What happened?”

The round of scolding that follows is somehow even more extensive and animated than an entire week of Tobio’s yelling, which. At least Tobio knows where Hinata gets his vocal cords from.

Dinner reminds Tobio a little bit of when he first went out with his coworkers, that night Hinata flew for him: loud, chaotic, close. But not bad at all; Hinata’s mom can _cook_ , and he inhales everything he can—rice and pork and pickled radish (also because Hinata challenged him to see who could eat the most number of sweet tomatoes and there was no _way_ Tobio was going to let him win in his own home).

They take turns in the bathroom washing up, and by the time Tobio stumbles out, hair washed and borrowed pajamas on, he’s feeling very full and sleepy and the most content he’s been in days, after weeks of travelling back to back. He stifles a yawn unsuccessfully behind his hand just as Hinata’s mom comes back from the kitchen with a set of blankets in her arms.

“You don’t mind sharing, if that’s okay? I’m really sorry, dear, but since _someone_ —” she raises her voice just slightly here, so it carries into the bathroom where Hinata’s still washing up—“didn’t tell me you were going to visit us, I didn’t have time to ask the neighbors for an extra bed.”

The yawn becomes a wheeze. She looks at him in concern.

He tries to regain his bearings. “Yes,” he says. Damage control. “I mean, no. No, I don’t mind.” He glances back at him, into the light of the bathroom. “Hinata?” A cry for help—he could sleep on the floor, or in the living room, or outside, even—

Hinata emerges from the bathroom with his own yawn, unphased. “Yeah, fine with me,” he says, shrugging. He has not received Tobio’s telepathic cry for help; Tobio despairs.

“Alright, well,” Hinata’s mother says, kind smile on her face so much like her son’s. Tobio wants to scream. “Get lots of rest, okay? Don’t stay up too late.”

“Mom, I’m twenty-two,” Hinata says, whiny voice destroying any argument he may have had. “Twenty-three in,” he counts on his fingers, “six months.”

“You heard me,” she replies, and she kisses his forehead. “Good night.” She turns to him, smiles again. “Good night, Tobio.”

Oh. Only Miwa has called him _Tobio_ for years now. He feels his mouth wobble a little—that was. That was nice.

Then she leaves, and Tobio’s brain takes a second more to catch up with the truth of what he’s just heard.

“Wait,” he says as they climb the stairs. “You’re older than me?”

“I am?” Hinata says, pushing open a door a few paces from the landing. Tobio glances down the hall and sees another door at the end of the hall, closed now—probably Natsu’s. He follows Hinata into his room and the door shuts behind them. Hinata twists the lantern suspended on the ceiling a few times; it sputters once before lighting up the room, warm and gold. “I mean, hah! I am!”

Tobio scowls. Damn, he can’t beat Hinata on this one.

Hinata opens the door to his closet, rummages around for something. Tobio scans the room; it’s fairly sparse except for a desk in the corner and a small bookshelf with no actual books, just some model planes and some pictures of him and Natsu and Hinata-san. And next to the bookshelf, in the corner beneath the window, is his bed, with a red duvet.

Tobio glares at it. It isn’t small, but it isn’t exactly large, either.

He runs a hand across his face and debates the merits of offering to sleep on the floor. He’s done it plenty of times before. Besides, Hinata probably kicks in his sleep, so there’s a chance Tobio will end up there anyway.

All he has to do is suggest it. _I can take the floor, it’s no big deal._ He opens his mouth. “When’s your birthday?” he asks instead. Dammit.

Hinata emerges wearing an old shirt that looks like it’s too big for _Tobio._ Is that what Hinata normally wears to bed?

“June 21st,” he says, yawning. 

“You look like a little kid,” Tobio says, staring.

“Well, you look like an old man,” Hinata snorts. “When’s your birthday?”

Oops. He should’ve seen that coming. It’s not that he doesn’t want Hinata to know, but. “December 22nd.”

“Wait, _what?_ And you didn’t tell us?”

Tobio sighs. Right. He looks away, rubs the back of his head. “Was I supposed to tell you?”

“Uh, yeah?” Hinata marches right up to him, right into Tobio’s face. Tobio scrunches his nose at him. “We’re friends, you idiot. That’s what friends do. And we could’ve had a party!”

“I don’t do parties,” Tobio says automatically. He hasn’t really thought about his birthday as something special before. _Does_ he do parties? He realizes he doesn’t know. “Besides, I was working.”

“We’re always working, dummy,” Hinata says, and this time his voice is softer.

Tobio sneaks a peek; Hinata’s lip is working itself, his eyes downcast. His eyelashes look molten in the firelight.

“No one should spend their birthday alone,” he says, and Tobio suddenly feels very shaky.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’ll…I’ll celebrate with you guys next year.” Hinata looks put out, which always dampens Tobio’s mood, for some reason. First the train, and then now—it’s just not right. “Okay?”

Slowly, Hinata looks up. “Okay,” he says, still soft. “I’ll hold you to that, Bakageyama.”

“Okay,” he repeats, breathes. Hinata stares at him, something flickering in his eye, or that could just be Tobio thinking weird thoughts again. He’s been having them ever since the observatory, the comet, the docks. Thoughts about big things with no name, small things he can’t touch.

What _is_ this?

Tobio sees it in slow motion—Hinata’s hand, reaching up, up, gentle, careful, up—

Past Tobio’s face, to turn off the light. Oh.

Then he charges past Tobio and launches himself on the bed. “I call the wall side!”

Tobio blinks at the sudden darkness, eyes adjusting to only the moonlight filtering in through the windows. Wills his racing heart to slow down. What the fuck? He turns around; Hinata is lying on top of his duvet, starfish shaped. He pats the space next to him. “C’mon, there’s enough room!”

He’s only ever slept in a bed with someone else once in his life—and that was when he was seven, when Kazuyo-san took him and Miwa into the city and it had rained so hard the streets flooded, so they’d had to sleep in an inn. They’d all piled into a small but cozy room with a bed only just big enough for two, but Tobio had been small enough, Kazuyo-san had said with a wink. They’d just be like sardines for a night.

On base, most of his squadron members had to share rooms, but Tobio had gotten his own room. Just the way it had been.

But that was a lifetime ago, and this is now, and Hinata is already kicking back the covers to snuggle under them. Tobio approaches cautiously, tries to slide under with as little movement as possible. When he settles, he keeps a good distance away. Which is hard, given the bed’s size and the fact that Hinata seems to take up most of it.

“You’re gonna fall off, Bakageyama,” Hinata says. His voice already sounds sleepy. Somehow, Tobio can feel the heat of him from here. “Scooch closer.”

Tobio grunts and shifts slightly closer to the wall on Hinata’s side. Their shoulders brush. He freezes. Did Hinata notice?

A moment—Hinata doesn’t seem to have moved, either, so Tobio figures this is good enough. He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.

It’s warm under here, and everything smells like Hinata. Like wind and the soap Tobio borrowed from his bathroom and something else, something comforting.

He feels Hinata turn over on his side. As if pulled, Tobio does the same, so that they’re facing each other.

“Hi,” Hinata says softly. Sleepily. His hair falls over his eyes, which blink slow. Once, twice.

“Hey,” Tobio says, more awake than he’s ever been in his life.

His eyes are fully adjusted now. He can just make out the flecks of gold in his eyes. His breath skims across Tobio’s face, a ghost of a touch.

“Kageyama?”

Tobio can’t breathe. “Yeah?”

When was the last time Tobio felt like this? Like the time Kazuyo-san flew him to the ocean a few hours away; like when endless blue emerged over the horizon, until it was all he could see.

 _Careful Tobio,_ Kazuyo-san had said. _Never fly too far out alone. You could lose yourself forever, and then how would you get home?_

If Kazuyo-san had seen the comet, like Tobio had, would he still think that? Comets did not need anyone to navigate the cosmos; they somehow found their way back to earth alone, the way salmon knew to swim upriver, the way the tides knew to follow the moon. Tobio doesn’t believe in fate, exactly, but surely some things are inevitable. Gravitational.

“Why did you stop?” Hinata asks.

Tobio looks at the curve of Hinata’s collarbone, finds it no less _Hinata_ than his eyes or his hair. He already knows what the question means, but perhaps to delay the inevitable, he pauses. Just for a breath longer.

“Flying?” he finally says.

Hinata nods.

_What if I bring someone with me? You’d come with me, wouldn’t you, Kazuyo-san?_

“I…”

_Hmm. I would. I guess we could get lost together, then. But Tobio?_

“There was…”

_Yeah?_

Hinata is patient.

_If you keep flying, I promise. One day, someone will come and find you._

“I had an accident,” he finally says, and he wonders if Hinata already knows this, if he’s just asking now so he can hear it from Tobio’s own lips. He closes his eyes. Inevitable, huh? “During the war. I crashed. Broke both my arms, some ribs, fractured my skull.”

He looks back up at Hinata’s face, sees it open and soft. Everything seems soft, now. “I was lucky to be alive. _Am._ Am lucky. But…”

He pauses. How to explain?

“You can’t fly anymore,” Hinata whispers, finishes for him.

There is a knot at the base of Tobio’s stomach. It solidifies, hardens into a familiar, burning shape.

Shame, he realizes. He is ashamed. And it _burns._

This—does he deserve this? Any of it? Any of the familiarity, the laughter, the kindness. Good meals at new restaurants near old bridges. Smiling friends who ask him how he’s doing between breaks, who lend him ink and paper and money for milk. Good meals _with_ those friends. Always knowing that the window is open, that Hinata will be there, to talk to him, to listen.

Because here is the truth, the inevitable thing he can’t avoid:

He hadn’t died in the crash. Somehow, despite it all, he had survived. But the gift that Kazuyo-san gave him hadn’t. Kazuyo-san’s joy, his heart, and Tobio had let it die. All because—

“It was my fault,” he whispers. He knows it, he _knows_ it. “My pride, my ego. I lost my squadron’s trust. I thought I could do it alone.” He can’t breathe. “I flew into enemy territory.”

“What?” Hinata sounds horrified. Tobio wants to laugh; he should be. How pathetic does he sound right now, for there to be that kind of pity in his voice?

Tobio closes his eyes, tries to block out the memory of the screaming wind that haunts his dreams, his ears popping, burning earth rushing up to meet him. “It was my fault, my fault. My own goddamn fault.” Ugly sound of metal screeching, he’s falling—he can’t _breathe_ —

“Hey.” Then, softer: “Tobio.”

Eyes open.

Hinata’s arms are around him—when did that happen? He rubs small circles into he small of Tobio’s back with his unbandaged wrist. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I got you. It wasn’t your fault,” he says, and he pulls Tobio, still shuddering, to his chest, closes those last few inches. Hinata’s sleep shirt is soft against his cheek. He smells like soap and Hinata, like home.

There it is again, on top of the hurt—that unknowable thing, warm and expanding in Tobio’s chest. He can’t breathe again, but this time it’s different and he doesn’t know _why,_ doesn’t know what it is about Hinata that makes him feel like his lungs are expanding, like he could grow wings across the line of his spine, like he could fly again, but he _does._ He does, and Tobio doesn’t know what that means, and it’s ridiculous and he doesn’t deserve Hinata, because Tobio will never fly again, because his own stupid mistakes cost him the one thing he will ever truly be good at, and—

“You’re safe, you’re okay, you’re okay,” Hinata says, his voice an anchor. “I got you. Not your fault, okay? Not your fault.” He keeps murmuring the words, as if on loop, like a lullaby: “You’re safe, I got you. Not your fault. I’m here. I’m here.”

Tobio lets out a gasp—oh. Oh, he’s crying. When had that happened?

“It’s okay,” Hinata says. “I’m here. Let it all out.”

So Tobio does.

He shakes, falls apart right there in the warm circle of Hinata’s arms, tries to find purchase in the moment: the slide of his bare feet against the sheets, the way Hinata’s hand cards through his hair, as steady as waves on a shore. Their legs, entangled. Solid, real, _warm._ Grounded.

“I’m here,” Hinata says again, breath rustling through Tobio’s hair. The front of his shirt is probably all gross now with Tobio’s snot, but he doesn’t seem to care. Tobio’s body aches—he’d gone rigid for a few minutes.

“I’m here,” Hinata whispers in the space above Tobio’s head. Tobio can feel the vibrations in his chest against his cheek. It feels like the truth. “I’m here.”

Slowly, gradually, and with each pass of Hinata’s fingers through his hair, he lets himself relax.

Breathe.

He lets out a halted sigh, feels his pulse slow. The night goes quiet again, and the tension eases away, melting under Hinata’s touch. Eroded, bit by bit, with each revolution of Hinata’s hands.

He steadies. He feels Hinata nod against his head. “That’s it, Yamayama. That’s it.”

He takes a deep breath in, out. The world comes back to him in pieces: throat aching and tight, legs slotted like hands, moonlight on Hinata’s hair. Another pass of his hands; Tobio shivers. 

Breathes.

Neither of them move; Tobio isn’t going to ask if they should.

A few minutes pass, or perhaps hours. Hinata doesn’t stop running his hands through Tobio’s hair.

“Hinata?” he says, and it is a whisper against Hinata’s heart.

Of course Hinata hears him. “Yeah?”

“How did you know?”

Hinata retracts his fingers from his hair—Tobio feels their absence so strongly he almost says _wait._ But that would be strange, wouldn’t it?

After a bit of maneuvering, Hinata manages to look Tobio in the eye without changing their positions too much. He somehow manages to wedge the arm with his cast over Tobio’s head, then places the other lightly on Tobio’s hipbone. Tobio realizes his own hands are still trapped against his chest, so he moves them, cautiously putting them around Hinata’s waist as well. This is fine, right?

If it isn’t, Hinata doesn’t say so. “How did I know what?” he asks, now that they’re face to face. The moonlight does funny things to his eyes; he looks…nervous, somehow.

“You said I was burning.” Tobio remembers that night on the bridge. “How?”

The moment passes, and Hinata lets out a breath. “Oh.” The blankets rustle as he shifts; Hinata wriggles his arm out and lifts, gently, places a finger to Tobio’s forehead.

“Your eyes,” he says, and Tobio resists the urge to shiver. Hinata retracts his hand, and Tobio does not follow it with his own, but. (Oh, but). “Sometimes when you look at the sky, you get this look. A lot of clients get it, too.” He pauses, as if finding the words. Suddenly, oddly, Tobio remembers Ushijima— _When people come here and look out at something big, they think about something big, too._ “It’s like you’ve lost something. Something you love.”

(Oh, but how he wants).

Hinata’s eyes are not the color of comets, but they might as well be, with the light that fills them, fills the sky that is Tobio’s heart. They look at him now, open and kind. Always, perpetually—kind. “Why do you ask?” he says.

Hinata Shouyou, the boy who flew in on a streak of daylight—and Tobio, the one who feels like he could fly again, just seeing him. He sees him, flaws and all.

The burn of his shame and the warmth of this feeling, whatever it is—they stem from the same place within Tobio, from the weight of being seen, of seeing. Pulled forward, Tobio thinks of inevitability, salmon up a stream, two hundred years of waiting.

Hinata _sees_ him, he thinks. Truly sees him.

Tobio feels a small smile cross his face, fading quick enough that Hinata doesn’t see it. He takes a deep breath, expands his chest to fit the size of this feeling, but it’s not enough. Just how vast is it? Where are its boundaries?

Questions for another night, he decides. He is too tired, too warm, for them now.

He sniffles one last time. He debates asking Hinata for a tissue, then decides against it. That’s probably gross; neither of them really seem to care, though. “Never mind,” he says, and lets his eyes close. He’ll let himself feel the full weight of Hinata’s eyes on him another time; for him, right now, it is dark and quiet, and this is enough. “Go to sleep.”

“Huh? Hey, wait a second—”

“Thank you.”

To be seen, understood—how wonderful it is.

Hinata tenses slightly, his arms tightening around Tobio. “Oh,” he says. Tobio wonders what kind of expression he’s making. He sounds surprised. “Yeah. Of course.”

He nods, satisfied. “Good night, Hinata.”

A pause. “Okay, Bakageyama,” he says quietly, and curls closer. Tobio leans in, too. “Good night.”

The darkness is warm. Tobio breathes easy.

A beat.

“Hey, Kageyama?”

“Mn?”

Another pause.

“It wasn’t your fault. And you’re not alone. I’m here, okay?”

He doesn’t answer, sleep overtaking him. Okay, he thinks. If Hinata says so, then maybe. Maybe.

Right before he drifts, to the steady pulse of Hinata’s heartbeat against his own, he feels a shift, a slight pressure on the crown of his forehead.

“Good night, Tobio,” someone says. Kazuyo-san? No, that can’t be right. “Sleep well.”

He’s too tired to figure it out. He sleeps.

***

_EXECUTIVE ORDER by: Maj. Oikawa Tooru_

_SQUADRON: KITAGAWA FIRST_

_SERIAL NUMBER: 07201994_

_DATE: December 20 th, XXXX_

_EFFECTIVE: Immediately_

_Kageyama Tobio serial number 12221996 has been honorably discharged from active duty due to heavy injuries sustained in an unsanctioned solo flight._

***

Yukitaka Izumi has light brown hair and a friendly smile. Hinata jumps nearly to the ceiling when the door opens. “Izumi!” he says, and tackle-hugs him. 

Tobio watches them from the foyer and has to hide a smile. He woke up this morning with Hinata gone, already washing up in the restroom, and had felt…odd. His arm had been stretched out to his side of the bed, palm up and empty. He’d panicked for a moment, then heard the bathroom sink running.

Ah, he had thought. So this is what it means to miss someone.

He wants to laugh, feels something like joy, something like hysteria. It terrifies him.

So he drinks his fill of his smile now, when Hinata isn’t looking. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Izumi peers from around Hinata’s shoulder, reunion over with. “Hello,” he says, and if Tobio’s not mistaken—his voice is a little nervous.

“Oh!” Hinata turns around and grins. “Izumi, this is Kageyama! He’s gonna help me scribe since—” he waves his brace around— “ _apparently,_ this needs to heal. Even though it feels fine.”

“Hello,” Tobio says. He gives a short bow. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“So you’re Kageyama!” Izumi says, face lighting up at hearing his name. Tobio flushes. How is it that everyone he meets here seems to know him? “It’s nice to meet you, too.” He pauses, as if considering something. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Tobio glances at Hinata. “That seems to be a trend around here.”

“Great!” Hinata squeaks. “You two have met. Let’s just get to work, shall we?”

Izumi’s request is a simple one: invitations to a party.

“Who’s the party for?” Hinata asks once they’re all settled in Izumi’s living room. Tobio sits next to him, typewriter at the ready.

“Not for ‘who’,” Izumi says, sliding a piece of paper across the table. Hinata picks it up and Tobio leans over to glance at it; Hinata shuffles a little closer so they can both read it. It’s a list of names, written in neat, green ink. “For _what_. We—well, my folks, anyway—thought it’d been awhile since the whole town had come together to celebrate anything, and the war officially ended a year ago this week.”

Hinata’s fingers trail along the edge of the paper. Tobio slides his hands off the keyboard and puts them in his lap.

Izumi nods at the paper. “So we thought it was time. Time to remember, and then…” He gets that faraway look, the one that Tobio recognizes. He wonders who—or what—Izumi has lost. “And then move on.”

He looks down at his hands. In the morning sunlight, his scar is nearly invisible.

Hinata hands the list to Tobio without looking at him. “Do you have a list of addresses?” he asks. “If you’re having the party this week, then we have a lot of work to do.”

***

They work all day. Once they have the wording of the actual invitation figured out (“ _End of War Celebration_ sounds horrible, dumbass.” “Then do you have a better idea?” “How about _In Memoriam_?” “That sounds like a funeral!”), it’s only a matter of typing out enough copies. Luckily, Hinata sprained his nondominant hand, so he can write the addresses and help Tobio make deliveries.

Hinata’s village is a lot bigger than Tobio had originally thought, with winding dirt roads that go in circles around the stretching fields between each house. By the time they’re on their last route, the sun has nearly set behind the green mountains, and their water skeins are all dried out.

Not that Tobio’s lacking water, though, the air so thick it feels like he’s swimming through soup on land.

“How the hell are you not sweating more?” he grumbles as Hinata slots the last letter into a rough-hewn mailbox. He wipes his brow with his forearm, shirt sleeves damp with sweat. “And how is it so hot here?”

“Aw, Kageyama-kun,” Hinata snickers. “It’s really cold where you’re from, right? Sounds like your blood is too thick. Just like your head.”

He dodges the hair-grab easily, but to be honest Tobio’s not really trying anymore.

“Dumbass,” he mutters instead as he follows Hinata back to the main road. “No wonder you’re so freaking hyper all the time.” He can’t imagine how hot it must get here in the summer, how that heat saps all your strength. “You have to deal with—” a vague gesture to the orange sky, the still-muggy evening air. “All this.”

“Actually,” Hinata says, coming back closer now that Tobio’s hands are back at his sides. “We moved here from the city just after Natsu was born. So I only grew up here for a few years before I moved back to the city for flight school.”

“Huh,” Tobio says. They’re at the crossroads, now. “Why’d you guys move?”

“The war had just started,” Hinata says, stopping in his tracks. “My mom thought we’d be…safer. Here.” He looks at Tobio, a question in his eyes. “But I guess I found my way to it, one way or another.”

Tobio watches him fiddle with his hands. He has a question of his own, one he feels he can ask, now. Is it because of last night? “What was your…job?”

Hinata’s hands still. “Delivered mail,” he says, which. Oh. Tobio should’ve seen that coming.

“That makes sense,” Tobio says.

“Yeah,” Hinata says. “That’s how I got set up with Karasuno.”

“Where were you stationed?” Tobio asks. Perhaps in Karasuno’s port? That would make sense, but then again—Takeda had said Karasuno had been established just after the war ended. Maybe it had been in the west, where Tobio had been, or maybe even the northern mountain ranges, where Ushijima had served and still resides.

Hinata shakes his head. “I didn’t have a home base, exactly. I delivered mostly to the front lines, which as you know.” He clears his throat, and Tobio feels a little lightheaded. “Changed, often.”

Even the wind is wet here, damp and cool against his neck. “Ah,” Tobio manages. “I guess…are you…” He falters. He’s still not used to this, to phrasing things delicately. “How?”

“How am I okay?” Hinata finishes. He always seems to know what Tobio means, even when Tobio doesn’t. Tobio nods.

“Most days are okay.” He continues walking again, and Tobio does the same, making sure to match pace. “But the days I’m not…I fly. Anywhere. For as long as I can.”

Tobio blinks. All those times Hinata came in to work late, smelling like motor oil and sky—those days, too? The day they’d met, when he’d come in late—then as well?

“How?” he asks, and he tries to suppress it, the surge of jealousy, but it’s not Hinata’s fault he can’t get behind a cockpit anymore without his lungs freezing up. Somehow, Hinata can fly, and he cannot.

But Hinata shakes his head. “It’s not the same as you,” he says. _I didn’t almost die_ he doesn’t say. They come to a fork in the road. “You said you did reconnaissance, right? So you didn’t see a whole lot of the ground during the day.”

Well, Tobio wants to bite back, technically he _did_ see the ground, but that wouldn’t be fair to Hinata. He knows he’s going somewhere with this, sharing a part of himself. He nods. “Yeah.”

“Well,” Hinata says. “Sometimes when I arrived, there wouldn’t even be a runway anymore, or a base. Sometimes it was just…wasteland. And I’d wonder if it was all worth it—being away from home, putting myself in danger to deliver letters to people who…might not even be there to receive them.”

A lump forms in Tobio’s throat. “Yeah,” he says again, with difficulty. This much, he knows.

“But sometimes…” Hinata looks to the evening sky. “Sometimes I’d make it in time. And when I did, when I gave the person their letter…” He exhales, loud and shaky. “The look on their _face._ Like they’d been saved.”

The lights of Hinata’s home come into view, twinkling and golden in the violet light.

“It made it all worth it, their gratitude,” Hinata says. He lets out a little laugh, almost wondering, ironic in a way that Tobio recognizes. “That’s what I told myself, anyway.”

They’re at the fence that marks the Hinata’s property. Tobio stops just outside it, looks at the small field that makes up their front yard. “I’m sorry,” he says, all rushed and wrong.

Hinata stops too and turns around, gaze curious. His earring swings in the wind. “For what?”

“For…” Tobio bites his lip, feels his face warm. Is it selfish to think this was brought on because of his…episode, yesterday? He doesn’t think so—Hinata, for all his openness, his easygoingness, doesn’t usually share his pain, at least from what Tobio has seen. He doesn’t want him to feel obligated to share just because he has his own issues. “For last night. I’m sorry.”

Again that look—the one that Tobio has been on the receiving end for months now, one he still can’t place despite its familiarity. Maybe it’s just familiar because it’s Hinata—he hadn’t considered that. Hinata being familiar. “Kageyama,” he says, voice soft. “Never apologize. I’m glad you told me. Really, really glad. Okay?”

Tobio strains his ears—he doesn’t hear the second voice in Hinata’s words, the one that says he is lying. It’s only now that he realizes he no longer listens for it, which—

The question resurfaces, in a new context—how long? How long has he been listening for voices that don’t exist?

How long has Tobio been afraid?

Another rush of shame—this is _Hinata._ Stupid, always-open, always-honest Hinata.

He is glad Tobio told him. Perhaps Tobio is glad, too.

“Okay,” he whispers, and Hinata nods, satisfied. He turns back around, waits for Tobio to catch up, and together they walk towards the light of the house, where dinner awaits.

***

The neighbors were able to bring the second mattress over while they were out, and Hinata-san set it up in the extra guest room right next to her son’s. It’s almost the exact same arrangement as back at Karasuno; they even share a wall.

Tobio feels stupid for feeling disappointed. Of course it’s better that he won’t wake up in the middle of the night with Hinata curled around him like an octopus, sprained wrist be damned, all sweaty and clingy. Of course it is.

It takes him awhile to fall asleep.

***

(The door creaks open. His eyes fly open, try to adjust to the dark. What time is it?

“What the fuck,” he croaks. “I’m trying to sleep?”

“Oh hush up, Bakageyama. Scooch.”

A pause. Thank God for the darkness.

“Okay.”)

***

The party—celebration, whatever—starts out fine. Izumi’s family hosts it in their front yard, which is even larger than Hinata’s, with picnic tables and ribbons strung in the trees and enough food for, Tobio is convinced, all of Karasuno and then some. Luck is on their side, the day the coolest it’s been since he and Hinata have arrived.

Tobio stands awkwardly under one of the many trees that ring the perimeter, holding his third plate of food he’s too full to actually eat. There are lots of people here, coming and going as the afternoon wears away, adults chattering at tables and children weaving in between them.

He wonders where Hinata is; he’d lost sight of him about an hour ago.

“How’s it goin’?”

He looks down in surprise. Natsu stares back at him, a blue ribbon threaded through her hair and grass stains on her bright yellow dress.

“Good,” Tobio says, munching on a corner of a rice cake just to give himself something to do with his hands.

Natsu leans against the trunk as well; Tobio shifts so they can both face the lawn. “So,” she says. “You’re a little different than I thought you’d be.”

Tobio stops chewing and looks at her out of the corner of his eye. “Oh?”

She nods, arms crossed. “Shouyou talks a lot about you, but I usually take what he says with a grain of salt. So I wasn’t sure.”

Tobio feels something equal parts panic and curiosity grow in the pit of his stomach. It’s not like it was a secret, given how everyone here seems to sorta know him, but to hear it confirmed…

“He talks about me?”

“No need to look so scared,” she snorts. “ _Yeah_ , he talks about you. Or writes about you. Like, a lot.” She says the last word with an emphasis that feels important, but Tobio doesn’t get what it might be. Hinata’d better not be telling lies about him, the little punk. She laughs, not unkindly. “I feel like I kinda know you already.”

“What does he say?” Tobio asks. He takes another bite to distract himself. Know him? What was there to really know?

“Let’s see,” Natsu says, with a grin that looks very familiar. “You two have this bet to see who can write the most letters—last time he wrote, he was winning—”

“Not anymore,” Tobio says automatically, and Natsu laughs again.

“Not anymore, then,” she agrees.

Tobio flushes; he hopes she doesn’t think he’s rude.

“You like working alone,” she continues. Tobio feels his heart thud, but then she says, “But he doesn’t care, because you need other people to write good letters anyway. So even if you don’t like to talk to other people, you’ll do it. And you do well.”

“I do,” he blurts out again. This time, Natsu doesn’t laugh, only raises an eyebrow. He winces. “No, I meant…I do like it.” He thinks of Bokuto’s smile, of Ushijima’s quiet presence, of Daichi’s reassuring hand on his shoulder. Yamaguchi’s quiet snickering, Yachi’s earnest inquiries, even Tsukishima’s deadpan sense of humor. “I like talking to people.”

Kindaichi’s face, eyes wide with shock. “Sometimes,” he amends.

“Sometimes,” she says, with a small smile. “Well. That’s good.” They look out at the rest of yard again; a group of children is having a somersault completion.

Tobio’s first impression of Hinata Natsu has only strengthened; he is very sure that he likes her, now. She has the same intensity as her brother, the same kind of direct focus, but she is remarkably quieter, despite being younger.

One of the children crashes into his neighbor, curly brown hair flopping about his face as he laughs. The other child protests loudly and whacks him on the head, though not too hard. They both laugh and begin to chase on another, arms outstretched, little legs tripping over the grass. It’s a familiar scene.

“Just…” Natsu says suddenly, and Tobio looks at her once more. She’s still staring out at the lawn, starts kicking her sandals in the dirt. “Take care of him. Please. He can be stupid and annoying and really, really selfish, but—”

“Selfish?” Tobio says.

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “That was a bad word to use. I mean…he kinda has a tendency to just…pull people along.”

“Ah.” Tobio remembers that first day, when he saw Hinata fly behind KPC; their first meeting, when he flew into the room and challenged him, a total stranger, to become a Doll. A whirlwind of a boy. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

“Good,” she says, and then she fixes him with a look that’s all too familiar—he places it almost immediately—like Miwa, strangely. Like she knows something. “You know him. So please, take care of him.”

Tobio feels very confused now. He’d thought he knew where she’d been going—maybe a little challenge of her own, a dare to beat her brother—but apparently not.

He feels his face heat up for some reason. Strange, it’s not even that hot today. “Um, sure?” he says. “What you mean by ‘take care’ of him? Like, make sure he’s eating enough or something? ‘Cause I’m not, uh. Not a babysitter.” He winces again—that had probably sounded rude.

She stares at him, a little line between her brows. “Wait,” she says slowly. She turns towards him fully, squints. “You two aren’t—you’re not—?”

He blinks at her. What?

“Like…you’re not together?” she finally says.

His plate tips over, and all the pastries spill to the ground, but he barely notices.

Oh. _Oh_. Tobio’s face is on fire. “Wait,” he parrots back. “N-no. _No._ What?”

Sure, he knew he was fond of Hinata, in a way one might be fond of a really close friend or something abstract, like…like the sky or flying or something. Not that Tobio has ever had many close friends, and not that he can pilot anymore. But _together?_ As in…a partnership?

But that’s ridiculous, surely. There’s no way that Tobio would want to be together with Hinata, like that, in that way…

Oh, shit.

Is _that_ what that aching tug was? That feeling? That…that _warmth?_

“Ohmygod,” Natsu is saying as Tobio’s world implodes. “Are you—are you being serious? Right now? You’re serious. You two aren’t, you know, like, _together?_ Because from his letters—"

“ _No,_ ” Tobio chokes out, shaking his head so hard it feels like his neck is going to snap. He needs to leave—this is. This is too much. He’ll figure out the _why_ later, but right now ringing silence threatens to overtake him and he just dropped so much food on the ground and oh my _God_ —he bends mechanically to pick it all up, one pastry at a time, then straightens.

Natsu is still staring at him, surprise still on her face, before it dawns to something else, like realization and…oh, is that pity?

No. No, no, no. That must mean that he looks, that he looks—

“Gonna get more food,” he mumbles, then tries not to stagger away, just as he hears Natsu mutter _shit_ and take off running in the opposite direction.

Tobio tosses the rest of the dirty rice cakes in a bin and wanders to the back of the house, sits on the porch. Looks out at the green and grey of the rice paddies, how some spots of reflected sky turn blue where the clouds are spotty. He breathes hard, hands still clutching his plate.

 _Together?_ Natsu had said, without a trace of doubt in her face. Like it was a given, like it was something Tobio should have known.

Together, he thinks, testing the word in his head. Kageyama and Hinata. Hinata and Kageyama. He blushes again, feels all warm and shivery, and—

Oh. _Oh._

What was it that Ushijima had said, again? _When people come here and look out at something big, they think about something big, too._

Everything about the past year starts to make a horrible kind of sense, recontextualized and reconsidered, sliding into place all in one terrifying moment—his weird stomach aches around Hinata, how he’s always saving things to tell him when they’re apart, how his bright hair is the first thing Tobio looks for when he enters a room. How his laughter fills that room, and Tobio turns towards it like a flower to the sun.

Wait, he thinks, as the images flood in, but the deluge doesn’t stop, of course it doesn’t. When has Hinata ever listened to him, even in his head?

Like the way Hinata chews on his lip when he’s trying to think of a word, the way his head tips back when he laughs; his hands, small and quick and perfect for typewriter keys and plane controls and grabbing Kageyama’s, his smile when he says _hurry up, Bakageyama, Daichi’ll get mad,_ or _hey I got a client today and you’re not gonna believe what their request was,_ or _did you see how I wrote that? Hah!_ —or just Tobio’s goddamn _name—_ just _Kageyama, Kageyama, it’s okay, I’m here. I’m here._

The way he held him not two nights ago, and Tobio had looked at him and thought _home_. So quiet, so natural, so inevitable. He hadn’t even noticed.

He’s an idiot.

“Shit,” Tobio mutters, as he comes to the realization that he is in love with Hinata Shouyou, and probably has been for quite awhile now. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He tries to steady his breathing, hugs himself tight. Ok. Plan. He’s crashing, and he’s got to take control. Where to grab onto, what to hold?

He closes his eyes, remembers Hinata’s hands rubbing circles into his back, his hands combing through his hair. There are so many other nights he can draw from, too—their roof, the only place Tobio doesn’t feel afraid when he’s that high up; talking in their rooms in various stages of waking or wandering the streets after team dinners. And some memories aren’t even of nights—their sunlit desks pushed next to each other, a shared bottle of milk, meat buns at the docks. Theirs, all theirs.

He breathes again, heart rate slowing. The world comes back again—he’s here. He is, surprisingly, alright. He does inventory.

He’s in love with Hinata Shouyou.

He has been, probably, since…he doesn’t actually know.

Another deep breath. This is fine. What’s important is that he knows now.

Does Hinata know, though?

He realizes he’s dropped his plate again—he leans over his knees to pick it up—he needs to find Hinata, to ask him, to see. He can do that, right? They’re friends. He knows Hinata doesn’t feel the same way—that’s fine. But he’s never been good at expressing emotions, and he doesn’t want this—this _thing_ —to ruin whatever they have. So he’ll just ask.

Ask _is this okay?_

He’s about to stand when he hears voices, and his blood freezes.

“Natsu, _please_ leave me alone.”

They’re coming around the other side of the house—the left, and Tobio scrambles up, leaves the plate on the stairs and darts into the open back door just as two familiar flashes of red hair come around the corner. He presses himself against the wall, strains his ears. There’s a stain on the windowsill, which is slightly cracked and faded with sunlight. Tobio can feel the breeze blow in with the voices, which are hushed, quick.

“I’m sorry, okay? I really thought—”

“Well, it’s not what you thought, okay?” Hinata sounds…upset. Really upset. Tobio has half a mind to step outside and see what the problem is—Hinata should never sound this broken, this sad. But then: “We’re not—Kageyama’s not that. We’re not that, Natsu.”

Silence. Tobio doesn’t breathe. Not…not what?

“Not together?” Natsu says.

Oh.

Tobio’s an idiot, a fucking _idiot_.

“No,” Hinata says. “It’s complicated, okay? Kageyama’s…he’s just….”

Does Tobio want to hear this? No, no he doesn’t. He moves to leave. He’ll figure out what to do later, how to put himself back together, he just needs to _go—_

“He’s incredible, Natsu.”

He freezes. His chest heaves. He lets out a silent sob—what the fuck. What the fuck?

Hinata’s voice is so quiet. “But he’s got so much to worry about, I can’t—no, _listen to me_ , Natsu, I can’t—”

“Why not?” Natsu says, and Tobio barely processes it as a question outside his own head. “I’ve seen the way you two idiots look at each other, and I know I’m not the only one who thinks so. I’m willing to bet his sister thinks the exact same thing, since she told you to ‘look after him’—like, come on! Even Mom sees it!”

He feels like he’s being pulled in two and it _hurts_ , it hurts so much. Why does it hurt so much?

“I _can’t_ , Natsu,” Hinata says again, voice rising, and oh God, that telltale waver in his voice, the one that Tobio only heard for himself last week, when he fell and didn’t cry, only teetered on the edge with gritted teeth before giving Tobio a watery smile—“He’s hurting and that can’t be what he needs right now! He needs space, and time. And what if I mess us up? I’d only make it worse.”

Selfish, Natsu had said. Natsu had been right—Hinata is _selfish._ Why does he get to say what Tobio needs or doesn’t need? He’s not a fucking child, he knows he has issues, but he’s been able to work them out, has been getting _better,_ even became a fucking Auto Memory Doll to figure out how to talk to people, how to love like a real goddamn human being, and it’s only been possible because he had…

“I’m scared,” Hinata says, voice quieter. “Scared of hurting him. Natsu, his old Major told me what happened, or at least a part of it. It was bad. Really, really bad. I just want to be there for him. I can’t mess this up.”

The world goes silent. It’s almost the exact same, the _exact fucking same—_

Humiliation burns bright and hot in his chest. Something scalding, it engulfs him, angry and red. How dare he—what gives him the right? Truly, how _dare_ he?

He takes a step forward, to yell at Hinata for being so incredibly stupid, when he realizes: Major.

_Oikawa._

It’s like getting hit with an enemy missile all over again, blindsiding and violent—Tobio hadn’t cared what Oikawa had told Hinata, because it hadn’t affected their relationship now. His past couldn’t haunt him because Hinata didn’t seem to care about how Tobio fumbled words, how he always looked angry and how he could sometimes be an asshole. This—this cautious, fragile thing between them—he thought it’d been strong enough to bear the weight of his ugliness.

But now?

Apparently, he’d been wrong. Apparently, the truth of his past does affect their relationship. And can Tobio even fault Hinata for that?

Because Hinata is bright and easygoing and draws people into his orbit as easy as breathing, and Tobio is just one of the poor assholes who thought it’d meant anything special.

He needs to get out, get away from this place and out of this town. Anywhere but here. He pushes himself off the wall and runs blindly through the house, trips something and falls—oh, there’s an ottoman—swears something loud and fierce and stands as quickly as he can, because the door’s still open and they can probably hear him. He keeps going, pushes through the house, a straight line to the front door, wrenches it open, hears it slam shut as he runs off the porch. He runs across the yard, weaves around the tables and the tents full of laughing people and the ribbons hanging from the treetops, runs all the way until his feet hit the gravel road.

He’s lucky; he somehow makes it back to Hinata’s house without getting lost. Everyone is at the party. The rooms are empty, quiet.

He dashes up the stairs, shoves all his clothes into his bag, not caring if he’s forgetting anything. On the way out, before he packs away his typewriter, he types out a quick note—

_Dear Hinata-san,_

_Thank you for your hospitality. An emergency job came up—please don’t worry. Thank you again._

He makes for the train station, and his luck holds out; there’s one leaving within the half hour, and he boards alone, sits at the window that looks out at the road he came from.

After he stows his bag under his seat, he closes his eyes, leans against the window, and tries very hard not to cry.

***

_But sir_ , _I can still be useful, I can still_ fly—

_No. You’re done. That’s an order, Tobio-chan. And someone who can’t listen to my orders has no place on my squadron. You messed up. Get some rest._

_But—_

_That’s. An. Order. Iwa-chan, let’s go. We’re finished here._

***

The whistle blows; he jerks awake.

The train starts moving just as Hinata reaches the platform. In the early evening light, gold and gentle, he stands. He’s breathing hard, chest heaving.

He’s saying something, mouth forming a familiar shape. _Kageyama_ , he’s saying, and the train isn’t going fast enough yet; he could still jump onboard, chase him down and say—something, anything—but something stills his feet. His face falls.

Tobio watches Hinata watch him leave. Watches as he doesn’t follow.

***

_MISSION (UNSANCTIONED) REPORT by: Maj. Iwaizumi Hajime_

_SQUADRON: KITAGAWA FIRST_

_SERIAL NUMBER: 06101994_

_DATE: December 1 st, XXXX_

_Kageyama Tobio serial number 12221996—MIA. [See transcript]._

_*_

_MISSION (UNSANCTIONED) TRANSCRIPT—added to file December 4 th_

_[UNPUBLISHED, FOR BRANCH RECORDS ONLY]_

_(Transcribed by Kunimi Akira from black box containing unsanctioned mission transmission)_

_Kindaichi: Kageyama, what the hell? That area’s off limits._

_Kageyama: I am aware._

_Kindaichi: So come back._

_Kageyama: Inform Major Oikawa that I will return after I survey the area._

_Kunimi: It’s like talking to a wall._

_Kindaichi: Kageyama, get back here, we can’t break formation._

_Kageyama: I can navigate on my own. I don’t need your help._

_Kunimi: Like a fucking wall. How many times has he done this now?_

_Kindaichi: It’s not about help, you jackass, it’s about safety. Get the fuck back here or we won’t follow you._

_Kageyama: Then don’t. I can do it alone._

_Kindaichi: Listen—_

_[Static—transmission between Kageyama and other members of squadron lost from this point forward]_

_Kageyama [faint—words unclear]: I don’t need them._

_[Static continues]_

_Kageyama [faint—words unclear]: I don’t need anyone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! <3  
> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/chubsthehamster) and [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/chubsonthemoon).


	5. What It Means to Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Tobio's letter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cJfaVgrfk_I&list=PLJbWNarT9D8msO9D8p3nvq7Wj9FBQvvkC&index=41&ab_channel=AaronMelgar).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter!!! I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I have writing it. If you somehow made it this far without having seen Violet Evergarden (in which case holy shit I am in awe sjdflksdj), then I hope this has piqued your interest even just a little bit!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Much love <333

“I’d like to request leave,” he says.

Ukai looks up from his stack of papers, surprised etched on his face. Tobio can’t imagine what he looks like; he’s been travelling nonstop for several days, with very little rest. “What?”

Tobio takes a step forward, bows his head low. “Please. I’d like to request leave.”

“Kageyama, is everything alright?” There is concern written in his voice, and Tobio can’t, just can’t face it. He grits his teeth and bows even lower, eyes to the floor.

“Please,” he says again.

A pause. He doesn’t dare look up.

“Of course,” Ukai says slowly.

Tobio straightens. “Thank you, sir.” He turns to leave. He needs to go; his next train leaves soon.

“Kageyama.”

He pauses, hand already on the door.

He hears Ukai sigh, and turns halfway to glance at his boss. It’s all he can manage.

Ukai’s eyes are kind. He runs a hand through his hair, purses his lips.

“We’ll be waiting for you when you get back,” he says. “You’re always welcome here.”

There’s a lump in Tobio’s throat. It tastes like salt. It feels like gratitude.

“Thank you, sir.”

***

He stares out the train window, out at the green blur of the mountains, all the way to Aoba Johsai. He traces his half-moon scar with his thumb, pretends it’s someone else’s hand.

He hadn’t really thought this through—he only has the bag he brought to Hinata’s house wedged beneath his seat, half a skein of water, no food. A little money. At some point he cracks his bag open to take stock of his laundry situation and finds that Hinata-san had washed all of his clothes.

He slams the suitcase closed and shoves it back under his seat again, burning with guilt. He hadn’t even thanked her in person. He needs to—needs to—

He slips in and out of a fitful sleep, eyes never really staying closed for long. Because when they do:

_Scared of hurting him. Natsu, his old major told me what happened, or at least a part of it. It was bad. Really, really bad._

_I’d only make it worse._

Worse, worse, worse.

Is that what Hinata thinks? That their friendship, partnership, whatever the hell it is—that it’s better left alone? That somehow, Tobio is incapable of loving just because he’s shit at it.

_To be a Doll, you have to understand what it means to be human. What it means to love._

Well, guess Tobio is shit at it all, then: being a Doll, being a human being. Being in love.

When he closes his eyes again, he sees Hinata’s hands, poised mid-curtsey, light fluttering like hummingbird wings.

***

He’s on the steps of the building—same long marbled columns, same wide stairs and blue-green carpeting—when he squints through the afternoon sun and sees two familiar shapes.

Kindaichi and Kunimi look just as surprised to see him as he feels.

They stare at him for a heartbeat. Tobio stares back.

“Kageyama,” Kindaichi says, the first to break the silence. He looks, if possible, even more uncomfortable than he did last month at the observatory.

Kunimi tilts his head slightly, barely an acknowledgment.

Tobio nods back regardless. “I need to speak with Major Oikawa.”

“Which one?” Kunimi says. Ah, that’s right; Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime are married now.

“Oikawa Tooru,” Tobio clarifies. “Is he in?”

“Er,” Kindachi says, rubbing the back of his neck. He still won’t look Tobio in the eyes. “Visitors aren’t allowed right now, so—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tobio mutters. He’s tired and he’s hungry and he just wants to get this over with. “We were in the same squadron for _four years_ , how am I a visitor?”

“I see you’re still an asshole,” Kunimi says suddenly. It’s an effort for Tobio not to flinch; he stares him in the eye. He’s as impassive as ever; seems like Kunimi hasn’t changed much, either. “The Major is busy right now coordinating for the airshow. Please leave, or you will be escorted off the premises.”

He starts walking again, down the stairs and past Tobio. He doesn’t look at him again. After a moment of hesitation, Kindaichi follows.

Panic wells in Tobio’s chest—no, he can’t turn back now, not when—

_What if I mess it all up?_

He turns quickly, sets his case down. For the second time in a week, he bows so low he’s almost parallel to the ground. “Please,” he says, and even to his own ears, it sounds desperate. “Please, I need to see him. It’s important.”

He hears their footsteps stop. The stairs of the entranceway are a familiar gray stone—he’s walked them thousands of times, what feels like a lifetime ago.

He says, again, louder: “Please.”

Silence.

“Kageyama, you—” Kindaichi’s voice sounds strangled. A part of Tobio wants to laugh; this keeps happening. The surprise. Have they never seen someone beg before? “What _happened_?”

“Please,” Tobio says again. He won’t move until he gets an answer; he’ll stay, just like this.

Too much is at stake.

A sigh, this time from Kunimi. A sigh that relents.

Tobio looks up. Kindaichi’s eyes are wide, mouth slightly ajar. Even Kunimi looks taken aback, eyes narrowed.

He waits.

“He’s in his office. West wing,” Kunimi finally says.

Tobio nods, feels a wave of relief wash over him. “Thank you,” he says, a bit stiffly, and _now_ Kunimi looks well and truly shocked—he blinks once, twice, three times.

“You’re…welcome,” he says. It sounds like a question.

And that’s that. Tobio turns, takes a few steps up. Turns back around.

“Sorry, where—?”

Kindaichi rushes forward, almost eagerly. He looks like he’s in pain. “I’ll show you.”

Tobio looks between him and Kunimi, who just shakes his head, equal parts disbelief and exasperation in the set of his brow. “He’ll show you, I guess.”

“Uh, yeah,” Tobio says, standing aside. “Thank you,” he adds again, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Follow me,” Kindaichi says quietly, and they ascend the stairs together.

***

The hallways are just as Tobio remembers, right down to the cold marble floors, the landscape paintings on the dark cherry walls. The foyer is high ceilinged and airy, full of light.

Tobio follows Kindaichi through the west wing, not quite at his side but not quite behind as they walk up a flight of stairs and through a set of unfamiliar corridors—as far as Tobio remembers, Oikawa’s office had been in the east wing, but apparently it’s been moved. Even when he was under Oikawa’s command, he still had trouble finding his way around this place.

“So,” Kindaichi starts, and Tobio glances over in surprise. “Why do you want to see the Major?”

He gains nothing from lying, so he goes with the truth. “I have a question that I need answered.”

“Oh.” Kindaichi rubs the back of his neck; they pass a window that lets in late afternoon light, warm against Tobio’s arm. “So…you’re a Doll now, right?” _Like me?_ Tobio hears. “What made you decide on that?”

Tobio has no idea what’s happening, but he’s not sure he hates it. “A friend convinced me.” _And I wanted to understand you_ , he doesn’t say. He wonders if Kindaichi can hear the gaps in his words, too, what he means and what he can say.

Perhaps not. “A friend,” Kindaichi says, and Tobio may not always pick up on these things, but even he can hear the disbelief. He supposes he shouldn’t be too surprised.

Kindaichi sees Tobio’s face and winces. “No, that’s good! That’s good. I’m glad.” They cross an open landing, similar to the one outside the Doll office at Karasuno, and their voices echo across the empty space. “I’m a Doll, too. I saw you—”

“At the observatory, yeah,” Tobio says. “We were both there.”

“Yeah. Uh huh.”

Where the hell is Oikawa’s office, anyway? Surely they must be nearing it by now.

Kindaichi clears his throat. This is painful. They haven’t seen each other in months, and even when they did see each other regularly, they were never on the best of terms. Perhaps it’s for the best, if they never…

_Talk to him, Bakageyama!_

“Why…why did you become a Doll?” Tobio asks, stilted and awkward, but it’s an attempt. The minute he asks, he realizes he really is curious. He hadn’t taken Kindaichi to be particularly passionate about ghostwriting. Though, he supposes, he hadn’t been either.

Kindaichi stops, just outside a set of closed double doors, the same cherry wood as the walls, with two brass handles. “I…” he starts. “I wanted to learn. He studies the door intently. “How to better communicate. I figured being a Doll was the best way to go about it.”

Tobio feels the recognition like a physical thing, like when he looks in a mirror and knows his eyes, a feeling that travels full-body from his shoulders to his feet. That this is _him_.

It’s not an apology; there had been too much agency on Tobio’s end that night, for it to be truly Kindaichi’s fault. But he had been there, and he was perhaps one of the few people who truly understands how Tobio feels about it.

Suddenly, his strange mannerisms—why he won’t look Tobio in the eye, why he was so eager to show him here—make sense.

Oh. Kindaichi feels just as guilty as Tobio does.

Tobio blinks, lets the realization wash over him. It hits him again: that he understands Kindaichi, in this moment.

It’s a strange feeling.

“I see,” he says.

“Yeah.” Kindaichi’s still studying the door. “I…yeah. This is it.” He gestures to the gleaming handles, finally looking away to nod at Tobio.

“Oh,” Tobio says. “Great.”

Kindaichi nods, again. “Well,” he says. “Good luck.” He starts to walk away quickly, back the direction they came from. Kunimi’s probably waiting.

Tobio takes a breath. Says, “Kindaichi.”

Kindaichi turns, blinks. He doesn’t look at the door.

“Thank you,” Tobio says, meaning it, and he hopes to God Kindaichi knows what he really means. Just because he understands him doesn’t mean the words will be enough. “I really appreciate it.”

Another blink, this time very fast, like there’s something in his eye. Kindaichi nods one last time and almost, almost—a smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, Kageyama. Of course.”

He walks away, and Tobio thinks that perhaps it’s okay if words aren’t enough. Perhaps they never will be, between the two of them, but they’re trying. Perhaps that is what matters.

He knocks.

***

_MISSION (UNSANCTIONED) REPORT by: Kindaichi Yutaro_

_SQUADRON: KITAGAWA FIRST_

_SERIAL NUMBER: 06061996_

_DATE: December 2 nd, XXXX_

_Kageyama Tobio serial number 12221996—recovered from Sector 9. Sustained heavy injuries._

***

Tobio knocks twice more. Silence. Three more times.

After the fourth round of knocking, he raises his fist for a fifth, just as one of the doors swings open, and he sees a very disgruntled Iwaizumi Hajime squint at him. He looks oddly disheveled, his hair sticking up in every direction.

“Um,” Tobio says. “Iwaizumi-san. Hello.”

The squint becomes a look of shock. “Holy shit. Kageyama.” The door opens wider. “Come in, come in.”

The office is large, with long windows all along the wall facing the door and to Tobio’s right, and smaller doors leading to who knows where on his left. It’s very open, a large desk at its center and a fireplace behind it, flames low.

Iwaizumi-san still looks the same after all this time—handsome, broad-shouldered, an air of responsibility and assuredness to him that comes with both real confidence and genuine humility. His dark uniform, unlike his hair, is pressed neat and fits him well. His boots are polished to a shine, blue-green earrings sparkling like diamonds in his ears. Tobio has always liked and admired him, and is somehow not surprised to find him here, with…

“Oh? Now look who had the guts to show up.”

And there he is—familiar smirk on his face, leaning back in his chair, own boots on his desk. He twirls his cap on his left hand, as relaxed and easygoing as ever. Tobio feels his arm twitch with the urge to stand to attention.

Oikawa Tooru looks at Tobio like he’s just found a fascinating kind of bug he’s still considering squashing. Tobio purses his lips—he knows Oikawa is more bark than bite, but he really and truly looks displeased to see him. He’s always respected Oikawa too, but for different reasons than he did Iwaizumi. Where Iwaizumi was steady and calm in his authority, Oikawa had always been unpredictable, petulant, and moody. He was an odd man to follow, in times of war. But there had never been a doubt as to his ability to lead.

Still, Tobio’s glad Iwaizumi’s here.

Because for all the time he spent under their joint command, Iwaizumi never stuck his tongue out upon seeing him, even when Tobio was being difficult. Oikawa, perhaps because he’s feeling sentimental, even adds a rude gesture with his hand this time.

“Nope!” he says. He spins his hat in the other direction until it flies off his finger and hits the window behind him. “Whatever you want, I refuse!”

“Oi, cut that out,” Iwaizumi says, pushing Oikawa’s legs off the table. They hit the floor with a _thump_ and Oikawa makes a noise of protest.

“Iwa-chan!” he says. Tobio wonders why he’s kept the nickname even if they’re married. He aims a kick at Iwaizumi’s shins; Iwaizumi dodges. It’s a familiar sight, almost comforting. “Stop embarrassing me, you know I’m just kidding. Tobio-chan just needs a little scare, is all.”

“Yeah, well, _he_ doesn’t know that,” Iwaizumi says, moving to stand beside Oikawa’s chair. He puts a hand on Oikawa’s shoulder; Tobio sees, for the first time, the twin glints of gold on their ring fingers. “So stop screwing around.”

Oikawa looks at the hand on his shoulder, then back up at Iwaizumi. Something in his eyes goes dark as he moves to cover Iwaizumi’s hand with his own. “Oh?”

Whatever is happening, Tobio wants no part in it. He came here for a reason, and seeing his superiors make eyes at each other is not it. “Congratulations,” he blurts out, then kicks himself. Avoiding the topic of their marriage by explicitly bringing it up; makes sense.

They both look at him in surprise.

“Tobio-chan…” Oikawa says, brows knitted. “Did you just congratulate us?”

Tobio glares at him. He’s not a complete asshole, as much as his face gives off that impression. He knows happiness when he sees it.

Again, Tobio is saved from having to retort by Iwaizumi, who moves his hand from Oikawa’s shoulder to whack him upside the head. “Thank you, Kageyama,” he says seriously, ignoring Oikawa’s protests. “Although everyday I consider divorce.”

“Nooooo, Iwa-chan, not that!” Oikawa’s voice as gone all sappy and disgusting, which. Ew. “Then Shrimpy will be sad, since he worked so hard on those love letters.”

“He should’ve just thrown them in the garbage with the rest of your first drafts,” Iwaizumi says. “They were godawful; I would’ve said no if you sent me those.”

“How did you read them?” Oikawa looks horrified. “I threw them away!”

“ _I’m_ the one who always takes out the trash, asshole! You’re lucky he showed up when he did or else you might’ve been shit outta luck.” He shakes his head. “You never write reports either and it’s literally your _job_ —”

“You told me I wasn’t allowed to anymore!”

“Um!’ Tobio says. Honestly, he’d expected an outright rejection or open hostility, but not…whatever this is, this weirdly intimate peek into his superiors’ newlywed life. Or maybe they’re just like this around everyone—have they always been this lovey-dovey?

Perhaps he hadn’t noticed it the first time around.

They pause and look at him again.

He came here for a reason. “That was Hinata, right? The one who wrote the letters.” He suddenly feels the urge to describe Hinata to them, as if they hadn’t met him themselves. “Short—” he raises his hand to about his chin—“about this tall. Kinda dumb, red hair.”

“Ah,” Oikawa says, with a smile that Tobio does not like at all, not one bit. “So that’s why you’ve come back. It was _Shrimpy_.”

Tobio shifts. “Actually, Oikawa-san,” he says. “I have a question.”

Oikawa raises an eyebrow, his playfulness fading. Tobio feels a chill; being the target of Oikawa’s gaze had always been—and still is—terrifying.

But he’s come this far.

 _Communicate_ he hears. _Connect._

“May I speak with you?” He shoots an apologetic glance at Iwaizumi, who looks curious. “Alone?”

Oikawa considers him for a moment, all pretenses dropped. He, too, has not changed much since Tobio last saw him, but Tobio realizes, suddenly, that his hair is shorter now, less curly.

“Hmm,” he says. Tobio holds his breath. “No.”

***

_EXECUTIVE ORDER by: Maj. Oikawa Tooru_

_SQUADRON: KITAGAWA FIRST_

_SERIAL NUMBER: 07201994_

_DATE: December 3 rd, XXXX_

_EFFECTIVE: Immediately_

_Transfer Kageyama Tobio serial number 12221996 to Aoba Johsai medical center for immediate treatment._

***

After Oikawa finishes recovering from a head-thwap from his husband that sounded like it actually hurt, Tobio sits across from him at the desk, a tray of tea and cookies between them. Out of nerves and hunger, Tobio grabs a cookie and starts munching; he hasn’t eaten since the early this morning on the train.

“Married life is _so_ hard,” Oikawa moans, head in his hands. “Never get married, okay? It’s horrible.”

“But you love Iwaizumi-san,” Tobio points out, still munching. It’s just an observation, from what he remembers and what he just saw. It’s perfectly obvious now; he doesn’t know how he hadn’t recognized it sooner.

Oikawa doesn’t reply; when Tobio looks up, he sees that Oikawa’s face is, just a bit, red.

“Well,” he says, almost sounding defensive. As if Tobio pointing out the obvious—that he and Iwaizumi are truly, positively, one hundred percent enamored with one another—is somehow embarrassing. “Of course—I. Duh. Our families benefitted greatly from our marriage and it’s much easier for taxes, you know—”

“Okay, but that’s not why you married him,” Tobio says. He finishes the cookie, blows a bit on his tea. Takes a tentative sip; it scalds the tip of his tongue. “You love him.”

Oikawa, who had been muttering to himself about filing jointly and it’s just more _convenient_ , letting Iwa-chan do it all, stops speaking. His eyes turn serious, considering; suddenly careful now, almost cautious.

Tobio feels chills again.

“You’ve changed, Tobio-chan,” he says softly, that familiar, dangerous undercurrent in his voice rising, but only for a moment. “When I knew you, you wouldn’t have known love if it fell in your lap.”

Tobio doesn’t flinch, only looks at him. Dares him to assess the changes, whatever they may be. He knows they are there, somewhere in his eyes, the way he carries himself. He knows he has many, many people to thank for that, but mostly…

“So?” Oikawa says finally.

It’s not what Tobio’s expecting. The question catches him off guard. “So what?”

“So what if I’m in love with him?” Oikawa asks. “Does that make me weaker, if I need him around?”

Tobio feels his eyebrows knit together. “You and…Iwaizumi-san?”

“No, me and Macchan. Of course Iwa-chan, you numbskull.” He sits back in his seat, arms crossed. “Well?”

This feels like a test. Tobio doesn’t know what the correct answer is, if there even is one—why would Oikawa care about what Tobio thinks of his marriage, of needing people? He was under his command for four years, yes, but in all that time, the question of _needing,_ of connecting, never…

No, that’s not quite right, is it?

Do people need one another to live? Does that make them weaker?

He thinks of freedom, the open sky.

_You’d come with me, wouldn’t you, Kazuyo-san?_

He thinks of needing, of pulling. Of inevitability.

_If you keep flying, I promise. One day, someone will come and find you._

He thinks of how warmth feels like burning after being cold your whole life. How, once you get used to the altitude change, your eyes adjust. You no longer need to squint against the sun, because you are there with it, sharing the same space, breathing the same air. In time, you touch the same clouds, turn the sky the same colors. You see the earth together.

Freedom and falling; gravity and flying; needing and choosing. Are they each not one and the same?

Ah. Tobio’s an idiot. But—

“You need each other,” Tobio says slowly. “But you also chose each other.” He looks Oikawa dead in the eye. “To love someone doesn’t mean you just need them. It means you chose them, too.”

But if Tobio’s an idiot, then so is Hinata. What'd he say again? _I'm not what he needs right now._

Stupid Hinata. Hinata is all Tobio could ever need.

Oikawa doesn’t move, hand on his chin. Slowly, slowly he lets out a breath, puffing his hair up his forehead.

“What do you want, Kageyama,” Oikawa says, suddenly sounding tired. “You’re not gonna ask me if you can come back, right? War’s over. There’s nowhere to fly now. And I have—” he makes a grand, sweeping gesture—“ _so_ much to coordinate, with the airshow and everything.”

Once, when he was little, Kazuyo-san took him to the sea, but not by plane. That had been much later, when he’d asked _What if I bring someone with me?_ And Kazuyo-san had said _I guess we could get lost together, then._ The first time he saw the ocean, it was on her own shores, and he'd waded just far enough to let the water flicked up from the waves dry to salt on his knees. Kazuyo-san let Tobio hold his hand, and together they watched the sun dip below where the sky met the sea. All those colors.

No, that first time had not been from the sky, but he'd marveled no less. 

He thinks of perspectives, the view from above and at the line of the horizon. Of needing. Of how he is and was needed.

“No, I’m not coming back,” Tobio says. He takes a breath. “I wanted to ask—”

***

(Nearly two years ago, Kageyama Tobio fell from the sky.

Officially, here is what happened:

At 0200 hours, he and three other members of his squadron were on a routine sweep of the area around base. At 0216 hours, he broke formation. Tensions had been high within the ranks already. This was the final straw. The others headed back to base; Kageyama did not.

Unbeknownst to his squadron members and Kageyama himself, the enemy had broken through the western front earlier that night. Word had not yet reached base.

At approximately 0234 hours, he was shot down somewhere over Aoba Johsai River.

He was found at approximately 0600 hours the following morning, bleeding over the torn leather and still-sparking controls. Before he lost consciousness, he sent out a call for help containing his coordinates. It was lost in the chaos of the approaching enemy, and he hadn’t been found for several hours.

Kindaichi was the one who found him.

Major Oikawa Tooru discharged him honorably while he was in the hospital, and he was officially exempt from military service for the remainder of the war.

Officially, the war ended not three months later.

Officially, Kageyama Tobio escaped the battlefield unscathed. A medical miracle, they called him.

Unofficially, he never left that moment, that patch of sky between the first impact and the second.

Unofficially, Kageyama Tobio is, sometimes, on quiet nights of doubt, still falling. He doesn’t know if he will ever stop).

***

“Did I get what I deserved?” he asks Oikawa.

Maybe if it really was his fault, Hinata is right. Maybe he doesn’t deserve this happiness he’s found. Maybe that’s okay; maybe it was his mistake, and now he has to live with the consequences.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s okay for him to be so happy. Even without Kazuyo-san’s gift.

This is what he came here to ask.

This is his question, and it is a simple one, with a simple answer. “After what I did—losing my squadron’s trust, turning my back on them, not trusting them. We needed each other, and I wasn’t there for them. Was it my fault?”

Oikawa’s eyes become very wide, big and brown and full of…

Rage.

Oh, shit.

“Kageyama,” he says, very, very quietly. “Please tell me you did not come all this way here to waste my time.”

“I…didn’t,” Tobio says. His heart has slowed, slowed, so slow he doesn’t think blood flows to his brain anymore. He’s having a stroke, probably. “That was my question.”

Is the answer really so obvious? Perhaps it is—perhaps he’ll just have to deal with it.

Oikawa puts his head in his hands, rubs them over his face. “I can’t, I swear I—”

“Just answer the question, sir!” Tobio says, voice just bordering on a shout. He tacks the ‘sir’ on at the end more out of habit than anything else. He’s done, he’s tired, he just needs to hear Oikawa say that yeah, sorry, it was his fault, he’ll just have to do better next time, and he’s tried, he’s trying, he really fucking _trying,_ he’s been learning how to speak and how to love—

Oikawa stands suddenly and walks to face the window. Tobio stares at his back, the broad expanse of his uniform, disbelieving. This was a mistake, he never should’ve expected anything else, because it was _his_ mistake and now he just. Just has to keep finding ways to breathe.

“Did you know,” Oikawa says, hands folded behind his back, “that Iwa-chan and I are only happily married now because of your little friend back at Karasuno?”

It shouldn’t be a surprise at this point, how even a mention of him somehow stops the train wreck of Tobio’s mind, but it does. Somehow, it always does. “Hinata?”

“Yes, him,” Oikawa says. He walks away from the window and starts making a circle along the walls of the room, lost in thought. “We owe our current happiness to him. We were always going to be married, you know, childhood friends and close families and all, but.” He stops at one of the bookshelves. “Growing up with all the certainty? It was hard, knowing what was real. But Shrimpy has a way of…” A vague, fluttering gesture of his hand “…really seeing. Looking straight through you. He took one look and knew.”

For once in his life, Tobio completely and wholly understands what Oikawa means. “Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, he does that.”

“He’s seen a lot,” Oikawa says, and continues walking. “No one brings letters to dying men and sees the world the same way after. He understands, I think, the human soul.”

The human soul.

“Did he tell you about that? That he was a mail carrier,” Tobio asks, throat feeling thick. Hinata had given him a glimpse, but not much more. And he’d had to ask, point-blank. Was Tobio really that…unapproachable?

It was Hinata’s business, obviously. But Hinata had comforted Tobio, had run small circles on his back until his breathing had slowed. Had said, _it’s okay_ and _I’m here_ , again and again, until Tobio fell asleep.

Had anyone ever done that for Hinata? All those months after the war, alone in his room at Karasuno. Just like…Tobio had been, drifting in and out of dreams and memory at the hospital.

What did Hinata see, when he closed his eyes?

“Relax,” Oikawa snorts. “I had to do delicate extraction—something which you are very bad at, by the way—and even then he was cagey about it.” He gives Tobio a very pointed look, as if to say _that’s your job, not mine._ “No, Shrimpy had more questions than he did answers—specifically about you.”

“Me?” Tobio frowns. He knows Oikawa is going somewhere with this, that it somehow relates to his question. He doesn’t get how, though. “Why the hell would he ask about me?”

Oikawa makes a face of what can only be described as mild disgust. “Don’t ask me, I don’t know what rattles around in your empty heads. No, no.” He finishes his tour of the room and comes to a stop back behind his desk. “He actually had a lot to say, at first. Lots of…hmm. Complaints about you. My favorite was that your eyes were ‘too blue.’”

“Well, he’s a dumbass,” Tobio says, miffed. Current…weirdness between them aside, next time he sees Hinata he’s gonna squish his annoying red hair.

 _Too blue?_ What the hell did that mean?

“Oh, get that look off your face, I’m gonna barf,” Oikawa says, nose wrinkling. “But then around the second letter, he started asking questions. Got nosy. Apparently he talked to Kunimi. So he asked me. Absolutely no subtlety, just—‘what happened to Kageyama?’”

“And? What did you say?” Tobio’s getting impatient—somehow, Oikawa bringing up Hinata has distracted him from the reason he came here in the first place. He supposes it is Hinata’s fault, for being so distracting to Tobio, but there’s no way Oikawa can know about that.

“Told him to read the records and come to his own conclusions,” Oikawa says with a shrug. “There isn’t much else to tell. Why, did he say something to you?”

Did he _say_ something? Tobio wants to laugh.

It’s almost a relief, then. He had been worried over Oikawa and Hinata’s correspondence for nothing. Oikawa hadn’t said anything to sway Hinata’s mind, hadn’t said _oh, you’d only make it harder for poor broken Tobio-chan, better to leave him alone._ That was just Hinata being Hinata. Stupid, classic Hinata.

So then…why? Is he really just unworthy of love, of choosing and needing someone?

Tobio, suddenly, is very tired.

“Just get to the point,” he mutters. This is cruel, even for Oikawa. “Please.”

Oikawa sighs again, and this time the motion is not overdone, not dramatic. He sits down.

“Shrimpy cares about you. He thinks you're a good man," he says. He levels Tobio with a stare that he Tobio can't read. "I hate losing good men." 

Tobio wants to _scream._ Pitying himself is fine. Pity from outsiders is fine. Pity from _Oikawa_ , the man who he reported to for four years, the man he willingly followed into live fire, who he grudgingly admired, admires still?

He wants to disappear under his sad eyes, the same way he felt after Kazuyo-san’s funeral. Miwa had found him in their dusty attic, hands laced over his knees, just sitting next to his old helmet. She had taken his hands in hers and said nothing, just held him close. Falling.

“What I trying to say, Kageyama, is that you didn’t deserve what happened,” Oikawa says, clear and slow and unmistakable. “No one fucking does.”

Tobio is falling.

Oikawa’s eyes are narrowed steel. “That you would even think that is incredibly depressing, but also understandable. That’s our fault, for not making it clear from the get-go. If our conduct as a unit was the cause of, or contributed in any way, to this line of thinking, then behalf of the others, and for myself, I apologize. You shouldn’t have to carry that burden alone.”

And here, his eyes soften a hair, from steel to gold, maybe. “It’s not easy, is it? Living after.”

Tobio shakes his head—he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what to say.

“You’re not the same person you were, Tobio-chan. It seems you’ve learned a thing or two.” He looks at Tobio. Tobio feels his hands begin to shake. This is, this is—

“This is my last order—understand this, this feeling. It was not your fault. It will never be. It was also not our fault, either. But without each other, if we do not shoulder our hurt together, we are nothing.” He looks straight through Tobio, straight through him all the way back to the funeral, when something had closed. A door he hadn’t even realized could still be opened. “Understand this, remember this, and then—”

Tobio’s eyes burn. He is _burning._ He is falling, still falling. He thinks he sees the ground coming closer; he doesn’t know what will happen when he meets it.

But still, it comes. “And then live,” Oikawa finishes simply. “Live a long life.”

Oh, he’s crying, just a little. He wipes at them hastily, but he lets the tears fall. He lets them.

He thinks, strangely, of the rooftop back home, wind in red hair.

Home.

He laughs, a choked, wonderful sound. “I don’t need you,” he says, the joy and the fear and the _everything_ swarming him, embracing him, “to tell me that.”

How long has he been free, and he just didn’t realize it?

“I don’t need anyone to tell me it’s okay to live,” he says, just to say it, to test the words. “But I think—I think I would like him. Him, and everyone else, to be in my life.”

Oikawa stares at him. “Hmph,” he says, looking away at the ceiling. “Guess my orders are as good as dogshit then, huh?” He squints harder at the ceiling. “It’s dusty in here—call in Iwa-chan. So he can get rid of the—the dust.”

***

Before he leaves, Tobio turns to Oikawa to say one last thing. He’s looking at Iwaizumi-san, rummaging in the little closet off to the side of the study looking for more tea. Oikawa, apparently, doesn’t like green tea. Iwaizumi grumbles something about lazy husbands and their no-good preferences, and Tobio thinks it better not to disturb him.

“Why’d you bring up Hinata?” he asks. “He wasn’t the answer to my question.”

Oikawa smiles as he watches Iwaizumi throw him a rude hand gesture, head in his palm. It’s kind of terrifying, to see him so fond. “Wasn’t he, though?”

Iwaizumi pokes his head back in. “Oi, Shittykawa. We’re out of earl grey, how’s chai sound?”

Oikawa’s eyes light up, and he stands, walking towards the kettle on the desk. “Horrible, my love. Get me something else.”

It’s not a dismissal, but Tobio knows now when he is no longer part of a conversation. He bows shortly, then leaves.

***

Kageyama Tobio is falling, falling, falling. The ground grows closer.

***

Tobio takes a room at a nearby inn. He sits on his bed and stares at his hand, unmoving as the sun slips down the sky outside his window. The afternoon turns to dusk, the sunlight to moonlight across the wooden floor, and still Tobio sits.

_He wasn’t the answer to my question._

At some point, he lies down on his side and stares at the wall, traces his eyes over a water stain shaped kind of like Tanaka’s bald head. The noises from the street float in through the open window, indecipherable chattering and footsteps on cobblestone. People going home, people out for last minute errands. People who bump into each other and say _sorry!_ or _Oh, it’s been too long, we should—_

He’s not far from Karasuno—only a day and a half by train, and yet.

_Wasn’t he?_

The shadows on the wall shift, distort—he sees Kazuyo-san in the kitchen, making egg curry in the morning light, hears his sister laughing. It smells like frying food and spring. _Personal maintenance_ Kazuyo-san says with a wink. _Very important._ The scene shifts and he’s in the air again, above the fields that surround his home, hears _you’re flying, Tobio!_ , and when he turns to grin, say _I’m flying, I’m flying, Kazuyo-san, are you watching?_ he doesn’t see lined eyes, a kind smile, but instead the sun, so bright it blinds him, and he knows he shouldn’t, but he reaches out, just to touch—

A knock at the door, loud and jarring.

Tobio’s eyes fly open. He’s still curled on his side, facing the wall, and the sun has long gone down. His shirt smells like Hinata’s home.

Whoever’s at the door doesn’t give up and knocks again, rapid-fire and unrelenting.

What the hell?

The knock comes again. “Coming!” he bleats out, staggering off the bed. Who the fuck would visit this late at night?

He’s squinting at his lantern on his desk, trying to find the knob, when he hears a familiar voice. “Kageyama, open up!”

He finds the knob, lights the lantern, and stumbles to the door. He wrenches it open, and Nishinoya grins at him, holding his own lantern and carrying, of all things, a delivery bag.

“Noya-san?” Tobio says. He looks a little blurry, like maybe he’s just another vivid dream, but no—that’s just the firelight flickering, and Noya is still standing there, heels tapping against the floorboards impatiently. “What are you doing here?”

“Delivering you a letter!” Nishinoya says, as if it should be obvious. He reaches into his bag and sure enough: the black wax of Karasuno’s seal gleams in their shared lantern light. “Here ya go.”

Tobio takes it. Stares at it. Then he stares at Nishinoya, who is still grinning at Tobio. As if this was all normal.

“Um,” Tobio croaks. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Nishinoya pats him on the shoulder, quick and firm, and starts to leave.

“Wait,” Tobio says, almost tripping over the word. “Why are you here? I thought Aoba Johsai was out of our delivery range. And…” he glances at the lanterns in their hands. “It’s late.”

Nishinoya only grins. He pats his bag, which looks virtually empty, and says, smile almost too bright in the liquid light, “Every letter deserves to be delivered, Kageyama.” He looks around almost conspiratorially, lowers his voice to a whisper. “And don’t tell anyone, but we actually have an airfield behind the company. I flew here, only took me a few hours!”

Tobio, exhausted as he is, almost smiles. A secret, huh? “Ah,” he says softly. “I didn’t know that. That’s cool.”

Nishinoya nods. “Cool indeed. Well, I’m gonna get going. Open that letter whenever you’re ready, okay?”

Tobio holds the door open a little wider. “Would you like to—?”

“Nah, nah.” He waves him off, already disappearing into the darkness of the hallway as he takes his lantern with him. “I’d better head back, still have work in the morning. I’ll see you back at Karasuno soon, ‘kay?”

And then he’s gone.

Tobio closes the door slowly, goes to put the lantern on the little desk that faces the window. The view is just of the street below and the fourth floor of the buildings across from him, nothing like the glittering view of the bay back…

Home. There it is again—that word, so easily said, and the ache that comes with it.

He closes the window (it’s _freezing_ ) and returns to the letter. He slides a finger carefully under the wax, hears it snap, nice and clean.

The paper is a little wrinkled. It’s dated from yesterday.

He reads.

_Dear Kageyama,_

_Hey. It’s Daichi (and also kind of everyone—they’re all hovering over my shoulder as I type this. Hi this is Suga Daichi left to go yell at Tanaka and Nishinoya again anyway how are you doing_

_Hey. It’s Daichi._

_We don’t know what happened exactly, but we miss you. Please don’t read that as an order to come back to work—do that whenever you’re ready. But please come back soon, because we’re all worried and waiting for you—yes, even Tsukishima. (Tsukishima has just denied this but he’s still standing here so I mean)._

_We’re all worried about you. We hope you’re doing okay and that you know if you ever need something—anything at all—we’re here. We’re not going anywhere, like it or not._

_So please take as much time as you need. And when you return, I’ll treat everyone to dinner again. Within reason._

_We’ve got your back._

_—Daichi_

_Oh, and P.S.—you have a request waiting for you when you get back. She specifically asked for you and refuses to see anyone else. Just as a little motivation!_

_YEAH MAN WE REALLY MISS YOU!!! WHEN YOU GET BACK WE’RE GONNA GET FOOD AGAIN IT’S GONNA BE SO GREAT._

_—TANAKA + NOYA_

_I hope you’re doing alright, Kageyama! It’s too quiet around here without you!_

_—Yachi_

_Hurry up, don’t leave all the work for us. (Tsukki means he’s hoping you feel better soon!)_

_We’re rooting for you, kid._

_—Ukai and Takeda_

_Kageyama!! Get back here or else!!_

_—Suga_

Tobio reads the letter once, twice. Traces his hand over the little scribbled notes at the bottom and in the margins—everyone’s signed it. Everyone.

Except…

He turns the letter over and finds what he’s looking for, sees one scrawled name in a familiar bright orange ink—just _Hinata_ , written as sloppily as ever. And underneath it, just two words:

_Come back._

Tobio takes a shuddering breath. He trembles.

Nishinoya’s eyes had been so bright, so kind and _happy_ to see him. Oikawa’s eyes, steely grey, even while apologizing.

Hinata’s, the color of home.

_Every letter deserves to be delivered._

His hands are trembling. He holds the paper to his chest, shoulders shuddering, and squeezes his eyes tight as, for the first time in years, since the moment Miwa sat next to him in the attic that day, the tears really and truly come. The door opens again, and he is warm.

_Come back._

“Okay,” he says to the steady firelight, to his half-moon scar on his hand clutching the letter. He sobs, quiet and full-bodied. His teeth ache as he whispers it, almost involuntary. “Okay.”

***

He cries until he runs out of tears, until his pillow is soaked and disgusting.

His head is pounding, his eyes puffy, his limbs weak.

He feels lighter than he has in years.

When he finally stops, at some point in the night, he tucks himself in, curls up warm and tight.

He thinks he knows what he has to do, now.

***

(Kageyama Tobio is falling, falling. The ground grows closer.

 _Look, Tobio,_ someone says, someone familiar.

So he does. Instead of closing his eyes, he opens them—he sees he's above the ocean, the mountains, the city. Half-moon, comet, airplane; does it even matter who he is, what house in the sky he inhabits, when the view is like this? This full of light and color?

Finally, he reaches his destination. The earth embraces him, or perhaps he embraces the earth.

Not falling; _flying._

He lands on steady ground, open and forgiving, feet wobbling and unsure and bleeding.

But he lands, nevertheless).

***

He comes back.

Takeda and Ukai are speaking when he walks into the office. When they look up, Tobio only sees relief. No fear, no pity. Maybe there never had been.

They look at him. Takeda smiles just as he did when Tobio woke up in that hospital—Tobio knows what it means now, that he’s not alone. Ukai stands.

“Welcome back,” he says, slow smile spreading on his face as well. “Glad to see you had the most productive leave of absence in the history of our company.” He pauses, considering. “Which isn’t super long, but still.”

Tobio, already poised to ask a question, asks a different one instead. “Wait, what?”

Takeeda’s smile is kind. “Nishinoya-kun brought it in just this morning. We really owe you one, Kageyama-kun.”

What the hell?

“Um,” Tobio says. “I’m sorry, what are you talking…about…” He trails off once he sees the envelope in Ukai’s hands, wax seal the green-blue color of Aoba Johsai’s livery.

Ukai holds up the letter. “Apparently, Major Oikawa Tooru just commissioned our services for an airshow.”

Everything feels very bright. Tobio just stares at them. “An airshow?”

“We haven’t had one in five years,” Takeda explains. “People are excited. They’re going to write letters to those they’ve lost, and we’re going to release them all over the city.” He exchanges another smile with Ukai. “You should write one, too; we all will.”

It finally clicks. So that’s why Noya-san had been in Aoba Johsai yesterday.

An airshow. Letters to those who are gone, letters falling from heaven. Sending them up and letting them down. It’s a wonderful idea, but right now he has a different question.

“I’ll consider it,” he says, hurried. He's never written a letter of his own before. What would it even entail? Who would he write to? But he shakes his head—onto his real question—“Where’s Hinata?”

“Ah, that’s right!” Ukai says. “She should be—”

“She?” Tobio asks, bewildered.

“ _There_ you are.”

Tobio wonders if there will ever come a day, as a member of Karasuno Postal Company, when he isn’t surprised. He’s beginning to think that the answer is no.

Hinata Natsu stands at the door, arms crossed.

“What,” Tobio croaks. Their last conversation had not been pretty, he knows. That same panic and confusion rises again, now with the knowledge of _why_ he was so panicked.

Wait, he wants to say, he’s not ready to explain himself yet, how he loves her brother even though he knows it can never happen—

“Can we go?” Natsu says. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can all sleep in peace.”

Tobio wonders if he’s dying. He feels himself nod, turns to Takeda and Ukai in a silent request. They just smile at him like they know something.

“You’re free to go,” Ukai says. “Come back when you’re finished and I can give you your next assignment. It’s gonna be a busy couple of weeks.”

So they go.

The Doll’s office is empty; it must be the weekend. He really must be out of it; what day is it today? He doesn’t know.

Tobio sits across from Natsu and tries not to think about how her and her brother’s hair are the exact same shade in the sunlight.

Hinata’s desk feels like a physical weight to his left.

He readies his typewriter. “Okay,” he says, fiddling with the paper. “Who are you sending it to?”

“Shouyou,” she says. His fingers slip. “My idiot big brother.”

“O-okay.” He looks up; she’s leaning forward in her chair, eyes focused. She looks so much like him that Tobio aches, just a little. He shouldn’t be here right now; he needs to get this over with quickly and find him.

 _Dear Shouyou_ he types.

He clears his throat, fingers shaking only slightly at the name. Shouyou. “Okay. What do you want to say?” Surely it must be important, since she came all this way. In fact, she probably came back with Hinata after…the party.

“May I dictate?” she asks, and he snaps out of it.

“Of course.”

“Okay,” she says, and takes a breath. “Here goes.”

“ _Dear Shouyou._ ” A pause. “ _I love you._ ”

It only takes three seconds. He waits.

“Okay, that should be good.”

He looks up, incredulous. “Wait, that’s it?”

She shrugs. “Yeah, I had a bunch of words planned, but this works best. It’s to the point, like you.”

Understanding the Hinatas is another thing Tobio thinks he’ll never fully grasp. “Okay. Well—” he takes the paper out of the rollers and hands it to her to read, just for procedure’s sake. It’s an effort to keep his hands still; he needs to _go._

“Perfect,” she says.

“Is that all you need?” Tobio says. He hopes he doesn’t sound rude; he probably does, a little. “Because if so—you can put it in the box downstairs in reception, right next to the mail room. It’s gold and labelled, can’t miss it.”

“No, wait, hold on,” she says. “I’m not done yet; do you have a pen to sign it with?”

“Oh, of course,” he says, and opens one of his drawers. He finds his favorite ink—blue, a gift from Yachi, and grabs a dip pen. He makes sure the nib is submerged fully, careful despite his impatience.

Every letter deserves only his best, after all.

“Here you go,” he says, holding it out to her while he screws the lid back on. She doesn’t take the pen, his hand still hovering in midair. “Sorry, just need to make sure this is on tight.”

She still doesn’t take it. He looks up, feels frustration rear its ugly head; he _really_ needs to go, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to do this if it’s not soon, and already his will is ebbing away—

She’s holding the letter out to him, her own hand next to his in the air. Her eyes are dead serious.

“Sign it,” she says. “Right there, at the bottom.” She points to it, as if somehow he didn’t know where one should sign a letter.

But honestly, he doesn’t blame her; he’s not processing much right now. He doesn’t think he remembers how to write his own name.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “ _What?_ ” Heat floods into his cheeks, flames that lick all the way to his ears. He’s sure he’s dying now. “You want me to—to, wait, hold on, I didn’t even _write_ this, this is _your_ letter—”

“Uh, yeah you wrote it,” she says. She rustles the paper in her hand impatiently. “I wrote it for you. Besides, all the letters you write for others aren’t technically written by the customers, they’re written by you. They give you the emotion, you give them the words. How is this any different?”

He just stares at her. There’s a pause; she looks hopeful. As if on repeat, he just stutters, “But this is _different_ , I can’t just—”

She sighs and places the paper on the desk between them, _Dear Shouyou_ facing him. The three words underneath it, typed neatly. “Sure you can. Write your name, Kageyama.”

The single line feels like every mission into unknown territory, every time he had to introduce himself to a new squadron. No, this is scarier.

His sense of urgency falters for a moment. _Is_ he ready to confront him?

He had thought he’d been prepared for this, for this very moment; now he sees he hadn’t been, not really. It’s hard to break old habits, after all. Just because he knows love doesn’t mean he can say it. He would’ve just seen Hinata and thought the same thing he did when he saw him on the docks after the observatory; a step back, a fear of things changing. Safe complacency. Not needing anyone.

But being alone isn’t what he wants anymore, is it?

“He’s waiting at the clock tower,” Natsu says. Now _she’s_ starting to sound impatient. “He goes there when he wants to mope alone. It’s where he writes his letters.”

She points to his pen, still comically extended in his hand. He lowers it. “Write your name and _go_ , before he starts crying. Although he probably deserves it, just a little. He’s been an idiot.” Her eyes are unblinking. Again, he thinks of her brother, and how the Hinatas are fucking terrifying.

This cannot be happening. He picks up the pen. His hand shakes so badly that his name is barely legible. He finishes writing it and somehow gets it into the envelope, seals it.

He looks up. He doesn’t know what to say to Natsu, doesn’t know how to thank her. It feels like he’s been entrusted something precious. “I—” he begins.

 _“Go,”_ she nearly shouts at him, and he jolts, standing so fast his chair screeches against the floorboards. Here he is, listening to Hinata’s kid sister. Kid sister who somehow figured it out—

He stops at the door, whips around. “How did you know?” It couldn’t have been that obvious, could it? From just one conversation?

She laughs, though not unkindly. It reminds Tobio, oddly, of Miwa: dry, delighted, a little too knowing for his liking. “I don’t have to be a Doll to see it. Also literally everyone knows. Like,” and she grins. “Everyone.”

He gapes at her, makes an aborted noise that may be one of acknowledgement, and runs.

Huh.

Regardless of what everyone might or might not know, she had technically just scribed for Tobio. She’d make a good Doll one day, if she wanted to.

***

His legs start to give out on him around the fifth flight.

He’s not in bad shape, has gotten plenty of exercise ever since he was discharged. Still, running at a dead sprint all the way to the edge of town, after travelling nearly nonstop for several weeks, and the sheer terror of what awaits him at the top makes him pause for a moment, breathing hard.

The letter is still safe in his pocket. He’s doing this. He’s really doing this.

He breathes in, out.

He keeps running.

When he emerges from the stairwell, the wind hits him straight in the face, cold and biting. He’s lucky it’s not overcast today, otherwise it’d be unbearable at this altitude.

Besides.

It’s cold, and it’s getting late, but the sun is still shining. The city is spread out below, bathed in evening light. Beyond that, familiar as an old friend, the open blue mouth of the bay.

Hinata sits, leaning back on his hands, his legs dangling over empty air and slotted between the metal railings. His wrist must be healed already—Tobio squints suspiciously at the pale skin. At least, it’d better be healed.

He looks past Hinata; Tobio’s never been up here before, so he hadn’t realized. Just how much of the city you can see, when you’re this high up.

He takes a deep breath, runs his fingers over the letter in his pocket. Then he walks towards Hinata, slow and careful. “That’s dangerous, you know.”

Hinata doesn’t immediately react, the only indication that he’s registered Tobio’s presence a slight twitch of his fingers. Tobio moves to sit beside him, slotting his legs through the railing as well.

He winces immediately; the metal is _cold_.

Hinata peeks around his section of rail that separates them. He probably shouldn’t lean his head too far out; the wind’s strong enough and the railing old enough that it all might come tumbling down. “I won’t fall,” he says, stretching his arms out into the air. He kicks his feet for good measure. “See?”

“Hmm.” Tobio can still worry.

They are quiet, wind rustling between them. Despite the chill, the letter in Tobio’s pocket feels like it’s burning.

Now there’s an idea.

“Is this what you meant?” he says, out into the nothing. His voice stays steady, thank God. He flexes his fingers, which have gone numb. He wonders if Hinata’s are cold, too.

Hinata laughs, a beautiful sound. “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific, Yamayama.”

Tobio feels a little hysterical. Overwhelmed. Is it the altitude? He brings his hand back and traces the letter again, looks out over the city as the sun sets in a purpling sky. Another day. “It feels like every part of my body is on fire,” he says. He closes his eyes. “You said I was burning. That I have scars.”

Hinata doesn’t respond for a while, so Tobio opens his eyes and turns his head to see. Hinata has moved his head back behind the railing; Tobio does the same.

Hinata’s eyes are wide, perhaps in shock. The evening sun sings them a new shade of brown with every blink. Tobio, for what it’s worth, is still breathing, though barely.

“You—” Hinata starts. He falters; Tobio is patient. “I said some things I shouldn’t have,” he finally says. “It wasn’t my place.”

“So you meant them, but you shouldn’t have said them,” Tobio mumbles. Which, ouch. Okay, that hurt more than he thought it would. He winces; he sounds angry, and he really isn’t. He just—wants to understand, because Hinata is his friend, and he’s obviously in pain. What kind of friend would Tobio be if he didn’t try to relieve him of it, just a little? “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to overhear.”

But then, he supposes, this will make what comes next easier. He’ll let him down easy, say _I’m sorry Kageyama_ in that kind voice of his, because Hinata, in addition to his brashness, his fearlessness, is kind and forgiving. He won’t hate Tobio, after.

“What?” Hinata says. There’s another line between his eyebrows; Tobio wants to press his finger to it, smooth it out. “Wait, what do you mean, overhear?”

Was it really so insignificant that he forgot? Tobio supposes it’s understandable. “At Izumi’s party? You were talking with Natsu,” he says slowly. “You said that you didn’t want to be with me, because you were afraid.” He glances at the ground between them, hard concrete and wood. “I’m sorry if I scare you. I know I can be…” He remembers the night he fell apart in his arms, shuddering and messy. “A lot.”

“What…” Hinata is whispering, horror dawning on his face. “Is _that_ why you left? Not because I—I scared you? You weren’t supposed to—”

“It’s okay.” He tries for a smile; he doesn’t think it’s working. He doesn’t know why Natsu gave him this letter; clearly, she’d been wrong. But it had been nice to hope, for a moment.

It had been nice.

“Oh, Kageyama,” Hinata says softly, and ah, here it comes. Tobio closes his eyes. “I am so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Tobio says again. Nope, the smile isn’t working; he can’t look at Hinata for this. The letter feels like it’s mocking him now, pulling him down to earth. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Yes, I _do,_ ” Hinata says, suddenly retracting his legs and turning to face Tobio. “Oh God, I’m such an _idiot—_ and I’m supposed to be better at this than you.” He laughs, almost hysterical. “But wait no, you’re still beating me in our score, aren’t you? God, I fucked up.”

Fuck. No holds barred, huh? Tobio’s actually starting to get a little angry, now. “You don’t have to say it like that,” he snaps. “This isn’t a joke, you know.”

“I know, I _know_ —”

“So don’t make it sound like a mistake!” He moves his own legs back and turns to Hinata, face red with fury, and then his voice catches in his throat.

Hinata’s crying.

The anger drains away immediately. Tobio feels all the color wash out of his face.

“Wh—” He just stares. Panic sets in as Hinata swipes at the tears. This is _wrong._ Hinata should not be crying; _Tobio_ is the one getting rejected. Why the fuck is he the one crying?

“But I screwed up,” he says, so soft Tobio has to strain to hear him. “I couldn’t—I couldn’t _not_ get to know you. I saw you that morning and just—I don’t know. Had to know you. I asked your old boss about you. I bothered you _constantly._ I asked you to fly even though I knew what you’d gone through, I didn’t say anything about it for _months_ because I was too scared to bring it up, and I didn’t tell you the truth, because I’m selfish, and a coward—”

Tobio blinks at him. “You’re not a coward,” he says automatically, almost dumbly. “You’re an idiot, yeah, but never a coward.”

Hinata lets out a gurgle that might be a laugh. It’s strange, but it’s better than tears; it clears Tobio’s head a bit, lets him organize his thoughts.

“Okay, first of all,” he starts. He scoots a little further away from the edge and closer to Hinata in a kind of diagonal movement, just so he can reach over wipe away some of the tears. Hinata’s skin is cold beneath his knuckles. Under his hands, Hinata goes very, very still, and stares. Tobio tries to be gentle.

Hinata should never have to cry, this much he knows.

His elbow brushes Hinata’s knees as he pulls back, and he almost loses his focus. “First of all,” he repeats, “I don’t care that you asked Oikawa—those records aren’t exactly public but I wouldn’t care if they were anyway. You knowing what happened doesn’t change anything.”

Hinata looks very small. It’s the first time Tobio has ever thought so.

“Second,” he continues. “You didn’t force me to do anything. You just asked. You couldn’t have known I couldn’t fly anymore, right? You only knew after you asked. Don’t mix things up. Besides,” he adds, this time quieter. “You’re the first person in a long time to ask.” He thinks of Kazuyo-san, feels the familiar lump in his throat. “You and my grandfather are the only ones who have ever had that kind of faith in me.”

“Oh,” Hinata murmurs.

“And third—” Tobio says, rallying himself. “You’re not a coward. I am.”

Hinata looks like he wants to protest, mouth open and eyebrows knitted, but Tobio’s already moving towards his pockets, hands trembling, and oh God, this is it, isn’t it? He’s going to tell him. All this time, and it’s finally the end.

It’ll be okay. He knows Hinata will be kind. He takes out the letter.

 _No you’re not, Bakageyama,_ Hinata is saying, but Tobio barely hears it. _I would never fall in love with a coward—_

The letter is in his hands, he’s going to give it to Hinata, he _is_ , and then the words register and his hands go slack and he drops it.

What?

It is windy on top of the clock tower. One moment the letter is halfway to the ground, the next it is not, it’s flying over Hinata’s hair, redder than his face, redder than _Tobio’s_ face, and then it’s blown away, carried aloft by the wind.

“Wait,” he whispers. “What?”

The wind is fast, but Hinata is faster. His hand darts up to catch the envelope, crushing it in his hand. “Oh!” he says, voice very high. His fingers tremble. “It’s for me!”

“Wait,” Tobio says again. “Wait, what the fuck did you just say?”

And because he’s Hinata, stupid, stubborn Hinata, always headstrong, always a dumbass, he doesn’t listen. He tears open the envelope, hands shaking so badly the paper crinkles even more.

He reads the letter. It is, as Tobio knows intimately, very short. Tobio feels, once more, that moment of weightless suspension, right before lift-off. He wonders, in the timelessness of those few seconds, if this is what he will always feel, looking at Hinata Shouyou.

How is it that he can no longer fly, and yet every moment he’s with Hinata, it feels like he’s airborne?

The lifetime ends; Hinata looks up. He blinks, another shade of brown for Tobio to contemplate later, when he isn’t falling.

Always, always, he is falling.

“Kageyama,” he says. Tobio’s ears are ringing; he closes his eyes tight. Is he dreaming?

“Kageyamaaaaa,” Hinata says again, drawing out the syllables. Tobio feels each second of Hinata’s voice, whining and awestruck, unravel the last remaining strands of his sanity. “Open your eyes, dummy.”

“You’re the dummy,” Tobio mutters, but he complies. When has he ever been able to say no?

Hinata brings the letter to his lips, kisses it once, then puts it in his pocket. Then, hands free, he moves to hold Tobio’s still clenched in his lap. He draws them towards himself, hands warm and gentle despite the chill. “Look at me,” he says. “Okay?”

Tobio is going to fly apart.

Hinata turns his hands over, examines them with his own. Tobio’s breath hitches as he runs his fingers over the lines of his palms, as if committing them to memory. His calluses are rough against Tobio’s palm, matching his own. He turns his hand over and traces Tobio’s scar with his fingers, so tender it hurts.

Tobio just watches. Watches, and marvels.

When he finishes, he laces their fingers together over the space where their crossed ankles nearly touch.

Tobio has never known this. This, this slow, warm shuddering that takes him apart, rolls over him like a wave on a shore. He stares at Hinata’s face, commits every freckle, every stray hair, to memory.

He had told Oikawa that he hadn’t needed anyone, and technically that is true. Technically, he doesn’t _need_ to know that right now, Hinata looks like he does when he’s writing, eyes looking outward but attention inward as he, too, memorizes Tobio. He doesn’t need to know that there’s an ink stain somehow, impossibly, near his right ear, or that when he smiles at him, almost shy, it’s a little lopsided and all beautiful.

He doesn’t _need_ to know all this, to know Hinata, but Tobio knows, he understands now:

He’d be less of a person, less himself, less _good_ , if he didn’t.

He can’t believe it. Hinata loves him. He loves him back.

As if mirroring his thoughts, Hinata says, almost breathless, “You’re a miracle, you know that? Bakageyama.”

Tobio lets out a shaky breath, tightens their intertwined hands. “Oh?” he says, and the wobble in his voice gives him away, but he always has been competitive, when it comes to Hinata. Not that either of them can really pretend, now that the gig is up. “How so?”

Hinata brings one of Tobio’s hands up to his lips, and kisses his scar. His lips are warm and dry. They burn.

Hinata never told him that _he_ would be the reason Tobio burns himself to ashes. Dumbass Hinata.

“You’re here in front of me now,” he says, like it’s obvious. “And I love you, and you love me, too.” He grins, like a secret underneath the delight. “Isn’t that a miracle?”

They’re both cherry red, Tobio knows it. He also doesn’t care.

Tobio raises his free hand to cup Hinata’s cheek. Hinata’s eyes widen, then close, and he turns his head to nestle in the palm of Tobio’s hand. “Hmm,” Tobio says. “I don’t know, this feels pretty real to me.”

“Miracles don’t mean imaginary, idiot,” Hinata mumbles, but they’re already both leaning forward, now, as if pulled by gravity. “You’re so…ridiculous.” Their foreheads meet, and Tobio can feel Hinata’s breath along his lips. He lets his hand trail down to his ear, then his neck; Hinata shivers. The hairs behind Hinata’s head, the short ones that curl ever so slightly when it’s humid, are soft.

Hah, Tobio was right.

He closes his eyes, smiles. “Dumbass,” he says. He has never known such happiness as this. He thinks he’ll never get used to it. “I guess it’s a miracle, then.”

 _You’re the miraculous one,_ Tobio wants to say. He wants to ask: what must it be like, to grow up so beautiful?

He loves Hinata. God, he loves him so much. Hinata’s right; it’s ridiculous how much.

He doesn’t say it for now, though, just lets the moment sing, and it’s okay, because Hinata understands. He feels the telltale shaking, on his forehead and all the places where they touch, their knees, their hands, that they’re both laughing, joy incarnate.

So it’s okay, that he doesn’t say it just yet.

***

(He’s standing now, but something trips him, and he falls. He falls again, a fall within a fall, and his back hits something warm and solid, like someone’s lap.

 _Oh,_ he says, as fingers wind into his hair. It _is_ someone’s lap, someone he knows. The person touches Tobio’s face, gently. He looks up, into a familiar sunlit smile.

 _You can see the whole sky from here_ , he says).

***

Or not. Because not saying it isn’t good enough for Tobio. Not anymore. He’s waited long enough, has gone through too much to not make something good come of it all.

He knows, now.

“What’s the matter, Yamayama?” Hinata asks. “You waitin’ for something?”

“You’re such an idiot,” he murmurs, crosses those last few breaths of air, and kisses him.

Hinata’s lips are warm and a little chapped. It is, like everything about Hinata, wonderful.

They pull away slowly, linger. When Tobio finally opens his eyes, he finds that Hinata’s already staring at him.

“Wow,” he says, soft. He is smiling. Tobio’s jaw aches, so he must be, too. “Do that again.”

“Wait,” Tobio says, and Hinata pouts. It’s adorable. But he has to say this, first. “I _will_ , don’t give me that look. But first, I gotta.”

Tobio trails a hand down the side of Hinata’s face, lets it rest on his cheek again. Marvels.

“I know what it means to be a Doll now,” Tobio announces, triumphant.

Hinata brings his own hand to cover Tobio’s and closes his eyes. “Hmm?”

Tobio cannot look away. So he doesn’t.

“I know, now. What it means to love.”

***

_(Of course you can see the sky from the ground, Bakageyama. Why’d you keep me waiting down here? Took you long enough)._

***

“Also, I’m still winning. I’m counting this letter towards my score.”

“You will _not._ ”

***

“When is this thing supposed to start?” Tsukishima says, glaring at the sky. Tobio, as he does on most days, feels a twinge of annoyance towards him but ignores it.

“At noon, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi replies, arm looped through his. They’re sharing a scarf; Tobio supposes it’s cute, since Yachi-san thinks it is. Love truly has no limits, as he’s learning.

“Kageyama!”

“Tobio-kun!”

He turns, sees Hoshiumi and Aran and Atsumu and…also Atsumu, but with grey hair instead of blonde, making their way through the crowd.

“We’ll wait for you here,” Yamaguchi says.

“Just don’t take too long,” Tsukishima says, and it’s actually kinda funny, how he has to hunch over to share the scarf. “Or we’ll leave you behind.”

He nods. “I’ll be right back,” he says, and walks across the street—closed now, for the airshow—to meet them halfway.

This close to the docks, to the grey-blue of the water sloshing up against the seawall, Tobio nearly mistakes Hoshiumi for a seagull again.

“Hello,” he says, shaking away the thought. “You guys are here too.”

“But of course!” Hoshiumi says, eyes as wide as ever. Tobio wonders, as he does every time he sees him, if he wears liner around his eyes or if his eyelids are just…like that. “I heard Hinata-kun was going to be leading the airshow. Of _course_ he’s a pilot, too.”

Atsumu sighs, his arm slung around Aran’s shoulders. He’s still wearing that same bright-green bracelet, although it’s faded and a little tattered now. “Tobio-kun,” he says, and points to the man who has his face. “This is my brother, ‘Samu.”

“He’s not as bad as ‘Tsumu here,” Aran offers by way of introduction. “Long time, no see.”

“Hello,” Tobio says to them both. They ignore Atsumu’s protests as he drops his arm from Aran’s shoulders— _oi what the hell does that mean, Aran_? _Oi!_ Osamu Miya seems nice. Reserved, perhaps quieter than his brother. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Osamu offers his hand, which Tobio shakes. “’Tsumu tells me you three all had a job at an observatory together.”

“Ah, that’s right!” Aran says. “Atsumu, that’s where ya met whatshisface, right? The one you won’t shut up about.”

“Yes,” Tobio answers Osamu, but he supposes he could be answering Aran as well. Atsumu’s protests are, once again, ignored.

Tobio’s still figuring out how to parse other people’s feelings, but he’s pretty confident with this one. “Miya-san seemed very taken with him. I can’t remember his name, but—”

“Aaaand that’s great, y’all have met!” Atsumu says very loudly. “Well, we’d better get goin’ now, it was nice to see ya, Tobio-kun!”

“You mean Sakusa, right?” Hoshiumi says eagerly. “Yeah, I remember him. That clean freak with the curly black hair.”

Atsumu lets out what can only be described as a scream and puts his head in his hands. “I hate y’all,” he mutters. Are those real tears?

“Well,” Aran says. He nods to Tobio. “We’re lookin’ forward to the airshow! We were commissioned by the other Oikawa, ah, what was his given name again—”

“Hajime,” Osamu says. “Kita-san and I did the catering for his wedding. There’s another one coming up too that we’re doing—I believe his name is Akaashi.”

“Oh!” Tobio says. “Yes, I wrote his proposal letter.”

“So romantic!” Hoshiumi crosses his arms and shakes his head as he says it. “Atsumu! I’ll write one for you and Sakusa.”

Atsumu has, thankfully, stopped crying. “I’m _literally_ a Doll myself, yanno—"

Tobio watches them bicker, feels something like fondness glow in his chest.

He’s made so many friends because of this job. Because of Hinata.

“Well,” Osamu says. He and Tobio stand and watch as Aran somehow gets dragged into the mess, offering his own services as a Doll. “We’d better get going. It was nice to meet you, Kageyama.”

“You too,” Tobio says, and he smiles. “Tell your brother and everyone else thank you for me.”

Osamu looks at him, and it’s almost uncanny, how he and Atsumu are so similar. He really sees it now, as he quirks his brow at Tobio. “What’s stopping you from saying it now?”

“Kageyama!” He turns and sees Yachi, standing with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima and the rest of Karasuno, waiting. “Everyone’s here now!”

“Be right there!” he says. He turns back to Osamu; the others are still bickering, and now Atsumu has Aran in a headlock. “I guess you’re right,” he says, smiling. “I’ll say it next time I see you guys, then.”

Osamu smiles back. “I guess so.”

Tobio gives him one last nod before returning to his own group.

He’ll see them all again, he knows.

“Friends of yours?” Daichi asks. Sugawara, holding his hand, says, “They looked lively.”

“Yeah, friends,” Tobio says. “I met them at Doll orientation.”

“I knew I recognized them!” Nishinoya says. “I’ve delivered some of their letters before. And Asahi helps the guy with grey hair move his rice bags sometimes.”

“Miya Osamu,” Asahi says, just as Tobio does. He grins apologetically, ducking his head, before continuing. “Yeah, he’s nice. Always offers one of his pastries after. I like him.”

“Oh?” Suga asks, sly grin on his face. “Was he the one you wrote your letter to, then?”

Asahi laughs softly, scratching his cheek. He looks at Nishinoya, who’s now debating Tanaka the merits of eating the snacks they packed before or after this afternoon’s deliveries. “No, not to him.”

“I wrote mine to my mom,” Yachi says shyly. “I was actually wondering who you guys wrote yours to.”

“Huh?” Tanaka looks up from his cheese sandwich. Looks like before, then. “I wrote mine to Kiyoko-san, obviously,” he says. Kiyoko smiles at him, her cheeks turning pink. “And I know Noya-san wrote one to his grandpa!”

“Mine’s to an old friend I haven’t talked to since before the war,” Daichi says. “We fell out of contact. Suga’s helping me find him again.”

“Someone very dear to me,” is all Sugawara says.

“My older brother,” says Tsukishima shortly, after some prodding.

“To Tsukki!” from a grinning Yamaguchi. (Tsukishima blushes. “Shut up, Yamaguchi.” “Sorry, Tsukki!).

Kiyoko wrote hers to her past self. “To tell her that everything will be okay in the end,” she says, small smile as lovely as ever.

“My old man,” someone says—they all turn to look.

“Ukai-san!” they chorus in unison. “Hello!”

“Hello, hello,” Takeda says, by his side. They join their little circle. “Are you guys ready?”

“Oh!” Yachi says. She does an adorable little side-step. “They’re ready?”

Takeda nods, hands behind his back. His smile is as kind as it always is. “We’re ready to go. It’s up to Hinata-kun, now.”

“I’ll be he’s excited,” Suga says with a chuckle. “He finally gets to fly something that isn’t our old one-seater.”

Nishinoya’s passionate defense of the company plane is cut short by Ukai, who clears his throat. “Well,” he says, and they fall quiet. “As you all know from working overtime for the past month—” they all groan; yeah, that part hadn’t been fun— “we had more than enough to pay y’all extra _and_ get a new plane for deliveries. I really appreciate everyone’s hard work.”

“Stop talking about her like she’s dead,” Nishinoya says. “She’s flown me to many a beautiful places, you know.”

“But really,” Ukai says, and he turns to Tobio with something like pride. “It’s really only thanks to Kageyama that we were commissioned by the Major.”

“No—” Tobio starts to protest, as murmured _hear hear_ s make their way around the circle. “I’m pretty sure he only wanted to give me more work—”

“It’s something to be proud of!” Daichi says, and everyone nods. “Now you really have the lead on Hinata, right? How many letters did you scribe?”

“Well,” Tobio says, “The whole job was a group effort, so we just counted the ones we got individually like normal.”

“I’m surprised you went for that,” Yamaguchi laughs, and so does everyone else, for some reason.

Tobio supposes it _is_ a bit strange. He’ll have to revisit it with Hinata later—what even was their score anymore? He’s definitely still winning, though.

The rest of group dissolves into their own little side conversations as he ponders it; if they counted the whole airshow as Tobio’s win, he’d have to offer something of equal value that didn’t contribute to Hinata’s score to make up for all the points Hinata would lose. Meat buns, maybe? No, those were only for super special occasions. Kisses? No—Hinata got too many of those already, it wouldn’t make up for it in Hinata’s mind. Or would it? Hmm. This is proving to be difficult.

He’s still pondering when he feels a nudge—ah, it’s Yachi-san. “Kageyama-kun,” she whispers, just as the bell tower on top of the hill chimes once. He has to lower his head to hear her as everyone else looks up, towards the sky. “Who did you write to?”

The first plane appears from the mountains behind them. Its motor is quiet at first, barely a purr, then gets louder, louder. It becomes a roar, and the plane—newly painted black for the occasion—sweeps over their heads, bringing the smell of wind and gasoline, and over the bay. It glides for a few seconds over the water, makes small billows like breathing against the surface, then takes a sharp turn up, up, up, soaring away.

Tobio grins. Show-off.

As if in agreement, the crowd roars in delight.

He realizes he hasn’t answered Yachi-san’s question, but she’s distracted, now. He doesn’t mind; he straightens up, and watches the sky with the rest of friends.

The letters flutter down from heaven, twirling and twisting, dancing like snow.

***

_Dear Kazuyo-san,_ he had written, the night before at his open window.

_I hope you are well._

_I miss you, a lot. I miss you everyday. So does Miwa. She’s visiting again soon, and I can’t wait to see her. I wish I could see you, too._

_I’m doing well. Actually, I’m doing very well. Some days are harder than others, but that’s to be expected. When it rains, my joints ache. I still have nightmares sometimes. And even though I’ve started piloting again, just a few short deliveries here and there, I still don’t feel safe in the air, sometimes. I don’t know if I ever will again. But I’ll try, slowly._

_I used to think I was wasting your gift. This thing you gave me, the thing you taught me to love—I thought it was dead. But do you remember the time we flew out to sea? You told me that I had to find someone who would go with me, so I wouldn’t get lost. That if I flew long enough, they would come and find me. Well—_

And here, he had turned around in his chair. Hinata was asleep, his mouth a half-open smear, faint snores in time with the rise and fall of his chest. One arm trailing off the bed. Red hair touched by moonlight.

_Well, you were right. I’m not alone anymore. I’m working as an Auto-Memory Doll at a postal company. I don’t have the exact same job that you did, but it still feels nice, knowing you’re close by. And I’ve learned so much._

_I’ve learned that you’re alive, here. You live on, in my heart. I know what it means to understand you, and to understand others. I know what it means to love._

_Thank you for being my grandfather. I know you’ll read this, connected as we are. I hope you’re watching and smiling, Kazuyo-san._

_I am no longer alone, and I am so happy. I hope you are, too._

_Love always,_

_Tobio_

***

Tobio looks to the sky raining letters and smiles.

No, life on the ground isn’t bad after all. Actually easier to see the sky, when you’re always looking up.

***

“No, _Bakageyama_ , we already decided! Writing for other Dolls doesn’t count! Even if it is Atsumu-san. I bet he heard about the success rate of your last love letter, heh.”

“Wait, why the hell wouldn’t it count? Oi, gimme that shirt back, by the way, I need to do laundry before Miwa visits. Anyway, a letter is a letter, dumbass, it doesn’t matter who requested it—”

“ _No,_ because Dolls already know how it works, so it doesn’t really count as work!”

“Bullshit. You’re just jealous because I got so many at the airshow last year and you still haven’t caught up.”

“That’s because you _bribed_ me, idiot, you can’t just tell me that you’re gonna be with me forever so it doesn’t matter what our scores are and then expect me to say no to whatever you say after that!”

“But you did say yes.”

“Only because I thought you were gonna—! You know what, never mind.”

“Oi. You thought I was gonna what?”

“I said don’t worry about it! Gosh, I have to do everything myself around here.”

“Quit mumbling, I can’t hear you, dumbass.”

“Nothing! I said nothing. Oh by the way, Natsu told me to tell you she wants to treat us to dinner.”

“Oh, that’s nice of her. Let’s go to that café, the one with the meat buns—oi wait, don’t change the subject!”

“I said don’t worry about it!”

“You’ve been weird ever since Bokuto and Akaashi-san’s wedding. What, afraid I’ll beat you to it? You know Dolls don’t actually have to quit working once they get married, that’s just a dumb rumor.”

“I know that! And _no,_ you won’t be able to beat me on this one, I have the ring right here, Meanie-yama—”

“You _what_ —?”

***

“In my defense,” Hinata says, once they’ve both stopped crying. They’re lying face to face on Tobio’s bed, although Hinata sleeps in it so often that at this point it’s kind of his, too. They’ll be moving out of Karasuno Postal Company’s attic soon, to an apartment of their own, but for now they’re here, warm and together under the covers.

Hinata’s wearing Tobio’s sweater that Miwa bought as an early birthday gift. Outside their window, it’s almost winter again. “I thought you were being serious,” Hinata says, laughing.

Tobio buries his face into his hair. It smells, as always, of wind, and of sunlight. Like flight. “I was. Kinda. I didn’t actually think you’d have a ring on you.”

He feels Hinata chuckle into his chest; he moves back a little so he can see his face better, adjusts his hands around his waist so they’re holding Hinata’s between them. Kisses every knuckle, because he can. Hinata watches him, something unbearable in his eyes.

“Well, now I have to get you a ring, too,” Tobio says once he’s finished, admiring the glint on his left hand.

“We can go today after work!”

“Alright.” He supposes they could go now, since they don’t have any requests today. He’s about to suggest it when—

A call echoes from downstairs. “Hinata! Kageyama!” It’s Yachi-san. “You both have requests!”

“Urgh,” Hinata says, closing his eyes. “Just wanna nap.”

Tobio agrees, but he has an image to maintain. He peels himself away, albeit reluctantly. “Nope. You’re still behind. If you don’t catch up soon, you never will.”

Hinata groans, but he lets himself be pulled up, accepting Tobio’s offered hand. “I feel like proposing first should count as a win.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You two!” says Yachi-san again. Uh oh, she’s not playing around this time. “They said it’s urgent!”

Tobio looks down at their linked hands, then at Hinata; Hinata squeezes once, twice, three times, warm as always, and swings their arms back and forth, back and forth. He smiles at Tobio, bright as ever.

It’s simple: when they fall, they catch each other. When one flies, the other does too.

Somewhere between the sky and the sea, they find one another, again and again. Kageyama Tobio is no longer alone.

He is happy.

“We’ll be right there!”

And together, they go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! <3  
> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/chubsthehamster) and [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/chubsonthemoon).

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! <3  
> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/chubsthehamster) and [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/chubsonthemoon).


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